


Behind Blue Eyes

by phaedrearden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drama, Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaedrearden/pseuds/phaedrearden
Summary: Behind and around the episodes. A bit of ep reiteration.





	Behind Blue Eyes

Behind Blue Eyes

~~~

"DEANWAKEUP!"

"What! I'm up, I'm up...what?" Reaching a seated position on the bed, Dean shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes a moment, then reached down for the bottle on the floor nearby.

"Sleep well?" Sam's voice came again. 

"Yeah," Dean graveled, having a swig from the bottle. "Tan, rested, and ready."

"Dean, come on," Sam said quietly. "You think I can't see it?"

Dean managed to turn far enough to look at Sam, where he sat with his computer at the table. "See what?"

"The nightmares? The drinking? I'm with you 24/7. I know something's going on."

"Sam, please," Dean sighed, tossing the recapped bottle aside.

"Uriel wasn't lying," Sam went on implacably. "But you are. You remember hell, don't you?"

Dean had risen creakily to his feet and come around the end of the bed toward Sam; he paused, made a helpless gesture, and asked "What do you want from me, huh? What?" He sank down to prop his ass against the bed's foot rail. 

"The truth, Dean. I mean, I'm your brother. I just wish you'd talk to me."

"Careful what you wish for," Dean said, in a feeble attempt at deflection.

"Cute," Sam replied, not impressed.

Dean picked up a newspaper, noted Sam's not-impressed demeanor, and sighed "Come on, can we stow the couple's therapy, huh? We're on a job. I want to work. Whaddayou got?"

Sam was silent, frustrated and miserable.

"Please?" Dean pressed, frankly begging for the topic to be dropped.

Sam finally, sighing, replied "We got teddy bear; uh, lottery guy; invisible pervert guy..."

***

As they were heading back down the boardwalk/dock toward the car, Dean paused. So did Sam. "What?" Sam asked.

"You were right," Dean told him. 

"About what?"

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I do remember everything that happened to me in the pit." Dean was still a moment, and added, as though he were imparting an even greater secret, "...everything."

There was another silence.

"So tell me about it," Sam said quietly.

"No," Dean said flatly.

Sam blinked. "Uh..."

Dean cut him off. "I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it."

"Dean, look--you can't just shoulder this thing alone. You gotta let me help."

"How?" Dean demanded impatiently. "Do you really think that a little heart-to-heart--some sharing and caring--is gonna change anything? Hm? Somehow...heal me? I'm not talking about a *bad day*, here." 

"I know that," Sam tried, but Dean cut him off again. 

"The things that I saw...there aren't words. There is no forgetting. There's no making it better. Because--it's right *here*, forever. You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So...I am sorry."

***

After leaving Concrete, Washington, they'd stopped in the Idaho panhandle at Coeur D'Alene--in a bed and breakfast, it being Coeur D'Alene. Sam expected Dean to complain about it, but his brother hadn't said a word, as they unpacked, about the level of frou-frou he expected to have to endure. It *was* the least ostentatious place Sam had found, checking his computer for vacancies in the more thrift-oriented establishments, even though it was the off-season for skiing. The location was pleasant; halfway up a green mountainside, overlooking water and the green peaks that rose on the other side of the small inlet. The Impala was perched in a lot that slanted at about thirty degrees, right along with the road that led up to the small, neat building. 

Not surprisingly uninterested in the scenery, Dean was inside with a sixer. Sam hadn't ridden him about ignoring the natural beauty after their conversation on the dock in Concrete, and considering his lack of complaint, or any other comment, about the accommodations. Sam contented himself with the fact that Dean was only drinking beer as he stared unseeing at the in-room cable. 

Sam was outside, and had made the climb to the top of the smaller precipice that overlooked peaceful water. The lake was silver-reflective beneath clouds of fog; they hung low enough that Sam looked down on them from his cliffside perch. Higher clouds that covered the whole sky blocked the sunset light, turning it to soft silver; the glow was low and even over the green landscape that surrounded him. 

It being a weeknight, the immediate area was as quiet as the lake's surface, though it wasn't late yet. Sam balanced himself, sitting on the guard rope supported by thick wooden posts that surrounded the parking lot, his back to the motel, facing out over the water. "Um," he began, and managed to gather himself. "I...I've prayed. A lot, actually. But I've never prayed to anybody in particular. Not angels, I mean. But I need to talk to you, Castiel. I, um...I know you're probably not that thrilled with me. You probably know more than...than I want you to know. I can't be your favorite person in the world, but this isn't for me. It's for Dean. I need to talk to you for him. I hope you can hear this kind of thing, or I'm going to feel like a--"

"I can hear you, Sam."

Sam nearly fell off the heavy guard rope, but managed to stand up and turn. Castiel was standing to his left and a little behind him. 

"That was quick," Sam gulped.

"As it happens, I had the leisure to answer. Most of the time, these days, I'm occupied." Castiel was quiet, but he sounded ungrudging. 

"I can imagine." Sam rammed his hands into his pockets, glancing up only briefly. He knew Cas's eyes were a bright, noticeable blue, but the wash-of-silver light that surrounded them drained the color, likely from Castiel and himself both. Only the green of the vegetation was bright. "I don't know if I have a right to ask you for things...even for Dean."

"Praying for loved ones is hardly ever an infringement of any sort."

"Well...Dean's also...kind of more than a loved one. More than brothers usually are, that is."

Castiel said "I know," so immediately and expressionlessly that Sam's jaw nearly dropped, before his brain could catch up--he and Dean had been hiding certain aspects of their relationship for so long, Sam had assumed the angel would know about Ruby, but it hadn't occurred to him to suspect Castiel knew about the less common   
aspects of his and Dean's relationship. 

"Oh," said Sam, feeling the gaffed-fish expression on his face.

Castiel continued calmly, "When love between humans is genuine, and a formal joining of any sort is made impossible by the shortcomings of the society they were born into, circumstances are usually taken into consideration, as with the norms of non-Christian cultures. In earliest Christianity, love was the highest law, higher than Jewish law." He shook his head a little, apparently in dismissal of the topic. "You have far more immediate matters to concern you than the devotion between you and your brother, or the numerous ways in which you express it."

Sam wanted to check one thing, as long as they were on the topic. "And the scripture that says...that the way of expressing it that I'm talking about, it's...that part of the Bible's a mistake?"

"Only one of the acts you and your brother indulge in is specifically referenced. Nothing else is. Also, the...so-called bastions of a given society--in Jewish society of the time, that would have been the priests, initially; and then the elders, after the fall of the Temple--always decide what information is disseminated to the masses, since until recently 'the masses' were mostly illiterate. Now, is there anything else that makes you wonder if I know what I'm doing in talking to you right now?"

"Crap. I didn't mean to imply that you didn't--I just wondered if this might not be..." he didn't want to say fruitless, or dangerous. "There's more, like you said..."

Castiel spared him from finishing, a note of impatience in his voice. "I know about what you do with the demon--no, I am not going to tell Dean; I haven't been instructed to do so, and I don't feel it's my place otherwise--and I know why you do it. Rather, I know why you believe you do. I can only stress how much I wish you would desist. I realize you think you can use what you learn from her for good, but the end result will be terrible, Sam--for you, and for innumerable earthly creatures other than you."

Sam looked at the asphalt between his feet, taking a deep breath, before looking back up into Castiel's laser-gaze. "Okay, as long as I'm not just blowing smoke, here--I'm not gonna answer that, because I didn't ask to see you so I could argue with you, and you didn't come for that."

"That's true. You wanted to ask heavenly favor for Dean, and I came to ask what you'd like done for him." Castiel assumed a quietly expectant air.

Sam took a deep breath as he re-propped himself against the stiff guard rope. "I know Dean remembers hell."

Castiel's lips tightened. "I apologize for Uriel, Sam."

Sam blinked at him, startled. "Uh...it's..." hardly all right. "He's not your fault."

"There's a reason I work with him. Many of my brothers and sisters are...unimpressed with humanity, though we must all profess respect and love for it, as for all of our father's creations. Uriel, as I've said, is a specialist, whose specialty almost necessitates contemptuous attitude toward humans, whereas I am known for my...generally sympathetic views."

"You function as a conscience?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Nothing so esoteric. I simply function as a damper, not that I would express it that way to him."

Sam sighed and nodded, his eyes dropping to his boots again. "Okay. Anyway...I want...I wondered, whether...okay, you removed Dean from hell."

"I did," Castiel said, quietly, but his tone implied a "So?"

"He had to have been hurt. Hurt bad--damaged, in a way no human would be able to recover from. You have to have done something to make him able to function again. He would have been worse than crazy."

"When a soul is taken from hell for any reason, its sanity must be restored; the angel returns the soul's destroyed selfhood to it. It's nothing to thank me for; it's simply what's done, no matter where the soul is destined to be taken."

"Um, I do thank you, I guess, but that's not where I was going. I wanted to know if you could remove his memories of hell."

Castiel was still for about a heartbeat; then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. No."

"No you can't do it, or no you won't do it because you haven't been told to?"

"I'm capable of it. But that isn't a choice I have the authority to make. If my superiors wanted Dean's memory of hell erased, I would have been given instructions to that effect. Heaven very seldom changes its mind in such matters, Sam."

"But you could ask?"

"I'm trying to tell you, there is no point. If such a mercy were permissible to heaven's plan, I would have been told to bestow it. If I didn't receive such orders, there is a reason."

"Well, do you know what the reason *is*?"

"I'm not party to heaven's plans; I'm only a messenger of heaven, and I do what I'm ordered to do. To do otherwise is to invite judgment, which in the case of disobedience is always the same." He didn't go on, but the ominous sound of the words hung in the air, and Sam didn't have to ask just how severe the punishment was. 

"But you haven't been told not to, either."

Castiel was quiet a moment, as expressionless as ever, but obviously carefully considering his next words. Castiel replied, "There are literally an unlimited number of things that are within my power to do, as there are with you. That doesn't mean you do them all, and it doesn't mean that I can do anything that isn't expressly forbidden. I know which things require either orders or permission, just as you know which things you may do and which things are forbidden to you, expressly or implicitly, on hearing them. This thing is not within the permitted scope of my own judgment to act on."

Sam was still--he felt frozen--his own unblinking gaze nearly as intense as Castiel's. He managed "Then--his suffering means nothing to you. I thought he was important--that you cared about him--"

"I do care about him, Sam," Castiel cut in suddenly, with a startlingly impatient note in his voice, and a wave of his hand that commanded silence, overriding Sam's words. "I care about you, too. I don't want you unhappy, and I don't want you to have to act against your conscience. That doesn't mean I'm willing to disobey heaven."

"So you care about him as far as your leash extends." Sam sighed. 

"You've never read much of the Bible, have you, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Enough."

"You've read mostly what deals directly with your work, though, am I right? Such as the aspects which are included in the Rituale Romanum, where you find the exorcisms, blessings, litanies and such that you use."

Sam nodded once, his gaze fixed tightly on Castiel's, wondering exactly where this was going. "There's a lot of Biblical material in the Weller Latin-and-English volumes; that's our most common source for those things."

Castiel said, walking toward Sam until he stopped almost between Sam's knees, "There isn't much that's relevant to the actual position and function of the different orders of Angel in those sources, though. You should have been reading the Bible itself--I'd recommend the New Revised Standard Version as a better translation, though most hunters use the King James--more extensively all the while you've worked as a hunter. Your devotion, your faith, speaks well for you; but you would be less upset--less disillusioned--now, if you'd made a point of finding out just what it was you had faith in. Angels are the messengers and enforcers of heaven. We are not always what humans would think of as benevolent. The assumption humans have of angelic love for all creation...you're partly right; some of us do have such love. I do. But it's particular to individual angels. I respect your faith, and I respect you, Sam--but I don't serve you. I won't go into whether *that* much is universal; I think you know that answer."

Sam did, but he refused to allow himself to be drawn off of the reason he'd called Castiel, much as he would have liked to ask for clarification, and perhaps justification, concerning the points Castiel had brought up. "So your hands are tied, is what you're saying? Then--what about talking to me right now? I can't believe you'd get permission to associate with me just because you wanted to, if you asked. I'm a demon-human crossbreed, a human sullied with demon blood, demonic power. That's the actual definition of an abomination."

"Technically, yes, you're an abomination, but that's irrelevant. Speaking with you like this is something I needn't--currently, at least--ask permission for. You know of my existence; it's within my prerogative to answer your call, or not answer."

"So 'heaven' doesn't know you've answered me."

"No. If directly asked, I'd tell the truth."

"Then they wouldn't know about Dean, would they? If you removed his memories of hell?"

"Heaven is a long way from finished with Dean, and it won't always act through me. If Dean's memory were wiped of his experiences in hell, heaven would know in short order. And they would know who was responsible." Castiel paused, but he was plainly only drawing breath and thinking, so Sam waited.

Castiel continued "You will find this hard to believe, I know, but I'm going to tell you anyway, because it's the truth. I love you. And I love Dean."

Sam stared, then gathered himself and said "You love your father's creation. Dean told me a little about that talk you two had at the playground in--"

"Yes, I do have an encompassing love for creation. But I care for you in particular, Sam, more deeply, and for Dean as well."

Sam stared. "You're right. I find that extremely hard to believe. Dean, maybe. But me? A servant of heaven, who knows what you know--"

"What you are doing is dangerous, and I may yet be ordered to prevent you from it in ways that neither of us will like. I may even have to kill you, as awful as I find that thought." Castiel, surprisingly, drew a heavy breath, a tired sigh. Then he reached up and touched Sam's jaw, lifting his groundward gaze, and met Sam's eyes. "You shouldn't trust me, Sam. Don't believe in me. Love you as I might, I must obey heaven, not my own desires. I will do everything that's within the parameters of my own authority to help you--when I have the opportunity." He moved his hand, tracing his fingertips down Sam's face, from his temple to his jaw, and spoke softly. "Your soul is beautiful. So is Dean's. Your desire to do good is powerful. You in particular are a gentle, empathetic soul, so determined to take what you are and turn it into a tool for helpful, humanitarian works, that you cannot see the darkness in you. You can't fight your own anger, because it repels you to the point you can't face it." His face contorted in sadness. "And I can't help you, the way that I would like. I shouldn't be revealing my love to you. I can't reveal it to your brother; he senses too much about it already, and he'll never stop trying to think of ways to use it. He can't use it, Sam; neither can you." The angel paused, and his hand fell as his eyes did. "If I have to kill you, I will grieve terribly." He lifted his head again and finished, with a flatness to his voice, "...but free will is reserved for humanity; angels may not indulge whatever propensity they have toward it. I have no choice."

Flabbergasted, Sam just stared a moment. Cas waited. Finally Sam managed "Aren't you...don't you get upset? Don't you ever get angry, that heaven--that your father would order you to do things that you hate doing, and not care? That you're used like that--that they expect you to just take it?"

Castiel smiled, a very little one. "I'll reiterate; free will was given to humans, and to other creatures who are *not* angels. It is an angel's function in the universe to obey heaven. An angel who demonstrates a tendency to free thought, free will, is considered...defective. If the defect is irreparable, the angel is destroyed. It's not as it was with you and your father, Sam. You had reason to expect that your desires would be taken into account. For an angel to even experience desires of his own..." he shook his head. "To your way of thinking, it might be compared to mental illness. Humans who suffer from such things are made subject to either remedial care, or punishment--whichever is deemed appropriate. It's the same for us, though the two are very similar for angels."

That sounded ominous, but Sam plowed past it. "You, though--you have desires. Dean didn't tell me everything about that talk--he said that you made him promise not to tell anyone about parts of it. But he told me enough that with what you've said, it's pretty obvious. You wouldn't even be here explaining this to me--you would have just said no and taken off again--if you didn't have desires of your own."

"You're right." Castiel nodded briefly. "That's why I have to be far more careful than I would if I were indifferent to you. My fondness for you...I don't think I'll be keeping my position as Uriel's superior for much longer; I don't know whether we'll work together at all. I might be forbidden to associate with you, which is one reason I'm telling you all this. I may not have another opportunity. But if removing me as your...your handler is all that's done, I'll be very surprised."

Sam swallowed. "I hope it doesn't happen."

"So do I. And I'll tell you something else." Castiel paused, turning and wandering away from Sam a few steps, and stopping, facing out over the cloud-shrouded lake, his unblinking eyes fixed hollowly on the thick puffs of condensed vapor moving over the water. "I wished desperately that I could remove Dean's memories of hell. It would have been easy. It still would. But I was expressly forbidden."

"So..." Sam stared at the trench-clad back. "You did ask."

"I didn't ask. But my orders included that direction."

"Then...that's why you know it'd be pointless to ask."

"No. That's what's odd. As I said, I'd know there'd be no use in asking, even if it hadn't been spelled out. It's the sort of thing that simply would be." Castiel shrugged. "Telling me outright shouldn't have been necessary."

Sam thought. "Do you think they know how much you feel? That it could make you want to?"

"That's the conclusion I've come to; nothing else makes sense. You have been...under observation by heaven for some time; I and others have been assigned to you, so I have known you for far longer than you realize. Heaven already knows more about my...feelings, than I'd previously thought. I just don't understand why I was assigned to you and Dean, if it were already known that I have what they would consider a weakness for you."

Sam asked softly "So you already--uh, loved us? In the...exceptional way you do?"

"Yes; and heaven must have known that, to make the orders concerning Dean so explicit; there was no need for that, otherwise."

"Then--they must know you'd use what latitude you have to do something like what you're doing now, if it came up. They might know--shit, they might know you're here. They could be watching you, if they know you...have feelings. About anything, including Dean and me."

"They may be. They might only be waiting for me to step over whatever line would indicate that my feelings are not a fluke, engendered by the universal love considered permissible to an angel."

"Cas..." Sam's brow furrowed in concern. "This could be that line."

"It could be." Castiel's voice and face were expressionless. "But I needed to answer you, to explain to you, in any case. And I have not yet disobeyed in any direct fashion."

"But you can't do us any good by getting yourself in serious trouble. I don't want to hurt you; I just wanted your help for Dean. I didn't know you were...suspected of anything." Sam shook his head rapidly, turning to face Castiel's back. "You should go. And I won't try to talk with you again, if it isn't safe."

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, and managed another little smile. "Well, you have reasons to worry about that, other than concern for me."

"Hell yes, I do. Dean and I could get stuck dealing with an angel like Uriel. I'd a lot rather have an angel who feels--who loves us--dealing with us for heaven, even if he can't act directly on the way he feels. But you're the closest thing to a friend we've got in the heavenly camp--and I hope that isn't insulting--and so I'm worried about you, too."

"Referring to me as your friend might be a bit premature, but it isn't insulting. That you would care about what might hppen to me, as well as to yourself and your brother, even under these circumstances, is one reason I love you." Cas was silent again for a moment, his head tilted in thought. 

"You should go," Sam repeated, approaching Castiel, stopping just behind him. He set his hands on the angel's shoulders. "If they told you flat out not to touch Dean's memories of hell, they could be...monitoring Dean some way." Sam gripped the trench-clad body a little tighter. "You should get out of here, and you shouldn't come back to us unless they tell you to. And you shouldn't...tell me the truth like this, any more. I won't tell Dean we talked. I don't like having one more thing to keep from him, but this is to protect you, not me. The fewer people who know you feel this way, the better." His hands made a stroking motion on Cas's shoulders; a helpless gesture, knowing he couldn't offer the angel anything significant in the way of reassurance. 

Castiel shook his head, slowly, once. "I don't know, Sam. I'm probably going to make a mistake that can't be ignored, eventually. I'll slip. They'll know. And they'll do what they do, when that happens." He turned under Sam's hands and reached up, cradling Sam's face a moment, before moving his own hands to Sam's shoulders. "This is perhaps the only chance I'll have to be honest with you."

"Maybe this has gone under their radar." The unlikeliness of that bloomed unspoken between them, and Sam looked away briefly. "Just--maybe you can still avoid the worst, whatever the worst turns out to be. But you have to go."

"In a few moments. Sam..." Castiel looked pained, then reached up to slide a hand into Sam's hair, pulling him down into a kiss--dry and light, very soft. Castiel held him there gently, lingering.

"Oh, God," Sam whispered when Cas let him lift his head. "Oh, my God." He pulled Castiel against him, holding him tightly.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Castiel murmured.

"No, you didn't...you didn't upset me--I just...I never thought you'd do anything like that. For me, I mean--an angel...even after what you said. I could never have pictured it."

"I'm envesseled, and you're human. If I feel a need to show caring for you, I have to use human methods. Unfamiliar as they may be, of course. I did nothing wrong?"

"No, nothing. You really do. Feel like that, I mean."

"I'm not lying to you right now, Sam. I'm not under orders now. None of this has been a lie."

"I believe you. I guess I didn't...*believe* it, though. I'm sorry you can't...you can't be who you are, that you..." He rested his face in Castiel's hair. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"I admit to weakness in telling you all this, in needing you to know that I'm not willingly your judge, or your enemy. It's not fair to you; it places you in a difficult position, since no matter how I feel, it won't affect what I do."

"You don't dare let it affect what you do. You could be--you could be brainwashed? Or killed? And you can't hide the way a human could. You really don't have an option...fuck. I shouldn't have said what I did, about, you know. The leash thing." 

Cas shook his head a little. "You aren't to blame. I know your heart. I knew how you'd react to this knowledge. It can't bring you anything but grief."

"That's not--I mean, do you think I wouldn't rather know you love us--that you just don't have a choice? You have to stay wrapped seriously tight in a way humans in that kind of situation could never manage--you're watched closely enough that you can't even get safely away with *wanting* to step out of line." Sam rubbed his cheek against Castiel's thick, messy hair. Then he leaned back a little, lifted Castiel's chin, and kissed him, more firmly than Cas had done.

By the time they separated, things had grown deep and moist and slightly arousing, despite Sam's upset. He stroked a hand through Cas's hair as their eyes met again. After gazing quietly at him a moment, Cas said "I'm happy to have your forgiveness, and your affection, Sam. But remember that you have an over-forgiving nature in some circumstances. Consider this; could you be as forgiving if I should be sent to kill you?" Castiel, with only his eyes giving any indication of his feelings, nevertheless conveyed gratitude, concern, and sorrow.

Sam shook his head, closing his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know if 'forgiving' is the right word. I sure as hell wouldn't be happy about it. I'd fight it. But I'd know you were doing what you have to, what you believe is right."

Castiel looked, if possible, even more desperate at that. For a being who was supposedly so poor with emotions, Castiel's face--barely mobile at all--radiated feeling. "Sam...please, listen to me. Stop what you're doing with the demon. I don't know if I could make myself...if I were sent to...even if I could do it, I doubt I'd care what was done to *me*, anymore, afterward. I couldn't..." he shook his head, apparently in inability to express himself in English. "Please," he repeated, with a soft intensity, his gaze boring through Sam.

"Shit, Cas," Sam barely whispered, and closed his eyes briefly, torn in far too many directions. "I thought you weren't my judge," he stalled, stroking down Cas's spine with one hand.

"I'm not judging you. Except in how it affects you, I don't care if what you're doing is ultimately right or wrong. I'm only a soldier, and a messenger, and such things aren't within my scope to decide. I'm only begging you, so that I won't be sent as part of a delegation to end your life." 

Sam felt tears welling up in his eyes as his head bowed. Cas's voice, the same earthy growl as usual--half-whispered, now--still managed to convey his desperation and sadness. Sam said "I'll think about it. I...I'll do that much. I can't promise anything else."

Cas was still, then moved to let his head rest on Sam's shoulder. "You have a conscience, too--a sense of responsibility, to do what you believe is right. If it were easy for you to ignore that, I wouldn't feel like this about you. But think about yourself. See potential harm to yourself as being of *significance*. Your altruism could be heaven's downfall, and I'm sorry to say that in this case, heaven won't care about your motives. It doesn't matter if you stop for your own sake, or for mine, or anyone's--as long as you *stop*."

"Cas...I just don't see how I can. If I can save possession victims, if I can kill demons, I can turn this thing around; I can make it--"

"There are things that you don't know, and that I can't tell you. There are also things that *I* don't know. Do as you said. Consider the matter, Sam, please."

"I will. I promise I will." He pulled Cas close again. "I wouldn't hurt you if I could avoid it. No matter what I do, I hope you know that."

"No more would I hurt you. But I may not have the choice."

Sam sighed, and he could swear he felt some sort of soft, strain-easing energy penetrating his back from Castiel's hands as they moved slowly over it. Sam whispered "I may not have the choice, either."

"I realize that," Castiel told him again. "I only wanted you to know..."

"It's okay. No matter what you have to do from now on, I do. I know."

It wasn't a good idea, for either of them, but they still didn't let go of each other for a while. They stood in the fading light until it was gone, and Sam reluctantly stepped back; with a soft feathery rush in the darkness, Castiel vanished.

***

When Sam came back into the room, Dean was sleeping in the flickering light of the TV. He was still in his jeans and on top of the bedclothes, and six beer bottles were neatly lined up next to the bed, empty. Sam sighed, gazing at him, then moved, turning the TV off and getting Dean out of his clothes and under the covers. Dean wasn't remotely drunk enough not to wake up sufficiently to cooperate, though he did try to pull Sam in with him before Sam could get undressed. 

Sam detached himself gently from his brother's grasping hands and got his own clothes off, throwing them over the back of the chair next to the one that held Dean's, and got in with him. Dean muttered and turned over, pulling him close and resting his head on Sam's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Sam's middle and dropping off again at once. Sam, his own arms around Dean, stroked soft skin carefully.

If he were to tell Dean about his conversation with the angel--which he would not be doing--he knew what Dean would say; that Cas was right in telling Sam to desist with the demon-aided work--but that Sam was nuts if he thought that what had passed between the two of them was anything more than a ploy to get Sam to quit doing what he was doing with Ruby. If, of course, Dean had *known* about what Sam was doing with Ruby. Sam sighed. He had Dean back, against every expectation--after every failure, every possible attempt--and with every breath he took, Sam was lying to him. 

It just wasn't fair.

He didn't feel guilty for what he'd done when he thought he'd never get Dean back, when he'd finally given up and sunk into a profound depression--one that Ruby had lifted him at least partly out of, by giving him another reason to go on. He didn't feel guilty for doing what he was currently doing, either; he needed to do it, in a way that no one who hadn't been physically stained for life by pure evil could understand. He couldn't live in his own skin if he didn't somehow turn that evil around, force it to function for good instead. It wouldn't take the stain, the self-disgust, away; but it could make it bearable to go on living, and he knew Dean couldn't understand--any more than Sam could truly understand, he knew, what Dean's memories of hell had done to him, now and forever. 

Sam couldn't stop what he was doing and live with himself--and he couldn't live without Dean again, especially so soon after getting him back. Neither avenue was even remotely thinkable. So this was the only way. He literally adored Dean, but Dean would probably never regard him with the same respect that Sam had for him; Dean would never accept the necessity of how Sam was training and using his demon-engendered ability. Sam would have to keep it separate from him, until he was ready to show Dean that it would be the difference between Lucifer's rising or not. Dean would always believe he knew best, and that any activity involving trusting a demon--no matter how beneficial to their cause, no matter how exceptional--was to be avoided. Dean's world was black and white. Himself, Sam didn't think he'd ever seen pure black or white in his life. 

Though he'd seen his share of the world through the red of suddenly-erupting fury. His own temper was much harder to kick awake than Dean's; but once it finally was, Sam's ability to think rationally vanished. He was ashamed of it; but, at least to himself, he didn't deny it.

Ruby seemed to understand where Sam was at. She didn't pretend that they weren't, primarily, two beings working toward a common goal; but they had loyalty, and they had a sense of camaraderie. Whether they had genuine friendship didn't seem to be a very important question, to either one of them. What they had was enough for each to get what they needed, and there was no prevarication between them on that or any other subject. Even the sex was more satisfying, demon or no demon, that the comfort he'd gotten from the human women he'd slept with during Dean's absence; the human liaisons were very temporary, and everyone involved knew that. Still, they involved the stress of hiding any bit of the truth of himself--lying on the fly, false names, false occupations, small talk that was crap from beginning to end; just enough to get them into bed, back out, and amicably set off on their separate ways. 

That sort of thing was easy, was second nature, to Dean; and to many other men and women. But it was a lonely, depressing experience for Sam and people like him--indulged in only when the loneliness of no human contact at all became too great to bear. The best thing about being with Ruby that way was that it hadn't required any cover-up at all, on either of their parts--not even the pretense that what they were doing in bed was anything more than mutual reassurance and relaxation between comrades. 

He thought about the conversation that had just taken place outside. Dean's attitudes having come into his thoughts, it had only occurred to Sam to doubt Castiel's sincerity when he thought about what Dean would say, if Dean were fully aware of the circumstances. 

But Sam, remembering what had just happened, realized he himself had no question. Cas had not been lying. 

Sam knew he was biased. He would never *want* to believe an angel could manipulate him so shamelessly; even more, he'd never want to believe an angel would need to. It was true that Cas's apparent coldness, and Uriel's outright spite, had disillusioned Sam severely; and he knew his own tendency to grasp at tiny fragments of good in otherwise appallingly bad people. He supposed that Dean would be well-supported by the facts, so far, in his opinion of Cas's motivation. Sam's mental powers had never extended to mind-reading, and even if they had, it was unlikely he'd be able to read the mind of an angel, so he had nothing to back his certainty of Cas's sincerity except instinct. 

He wanted to believe the angel loved them. And he did believe it. He believed it to the point that he wished, with a bizarre, inexplicable pain in his chest, that there were some way he could tell Dean about what had passed between him and Castiel. 

***

"Hello, Sam."

Sam turned his head toward the sound of the words, but he didn't startle. "Castiel," he said quietly. 

Castiel approached the bench Sam was sitting on, outside in the dark on the hospital grounds. "Dean is sleeping now. I saw to it that he wouldn't wake for a while, regardless of the medication."

"Thanks for relieving me. I couldn't have left him alone."

"Understandable. It was little enough to do, after my part in what happened. Sam, I wish I could--"

"You want to heal him. I know. I was pissed, when you showed up before, and maybe I still am. But I know you want to, and it'll sink in eventually." Sam sat with the usual awkwardness of a very large man trying to use furniture designed for normal humans; he was leaning forward, elbows on knees, taking no notice of the awkwardness as such--he was used to it by now. Tentatively, Castiel sat down on the bench, leaving as much room as it allowed between them. 

Cas replied "I would have done anything, not to have to ask him..."

"To torture again. I know. He told me that."

"It's different now, isn't it," Cas whispered. 

"What's different?"

"You know of my feelings, for you and Dean. You've seen, now, that they're irrelevant; I did as I was ordered, despite them. And you were the one who ultimately got an answer out of Alastair. I couldn't fight a demon of his rank--he's an ex-angel, like Azazel; and he was the chief torturer of Hell. Dean was, in a sense, in my care, and I couldn't keep him safe. And it's heaven's fault--my fault, as heaven's agent--that Dean was hurt. So...you must see now what I meant, when I said you shouldn't believe in me, in a more...visceral way."

Sam was quiet. 

"Uriel is dead," Castiel said. 

Sam glanced over at him. "What happened?"

"You were right. Alastair wasn't lying. No demon was responsible for the murders in my garrison. It was Uriel."

Sam was still a moment, then leaned back slowly on the bench, coming to rest with his fingers interlaced, hands in his lap. He gazed forward. "You killed him? He was executed? What happened?"

"Anna killed him. His attention was on me; he intended to kill me for refusing to join his cause."

"Anna," Sam murmured, his brow knitting.

"I've been...talking with her. I needed help...what's happening to me--I don't know how to...how to deal with it. She has experience with coming to feel in this way. For me, it's taking a long time to learn how to do it properly. And all the while, my doubts grow."

"You aren't ready to desert, though, like Anna."

"No. I still serve God."

"Cas, for your sake, and a lot of other people's--I really hope you're right about who you're serving," Sam said, and reached over to take Castiel's hand. "Anna still has a death sentence on her, doesn't she; and you're not carrying it out, though you received orders."

"She does, but...I can't take her back to heaven for punishment alone--she's as strong as I am. And she only speaks with me when I'm alone. I...only call her then."

"You're protecting her. Knowingly."

Castiel didn't answer. 

"You don't call anyone to help you arrest her; and you could, couldn't you? She comes when you call because she knows you won't."

Castiel shrugged. "I...simply don't mention it if she comes to me, or if I've called her--I have no explicit orders for either exact situation. And no one has asked."

Sam shook his head; he didn't know how to offer advice to an angel, or whether he was an idiot for even trying this, but he couldn't deny that he honestly gave a shit about Castiel, and he had to try. "Cas...you can't stay in the middle like this. You're splitting hairs like crazy, and even an angel can't keep that up for long. It'll destroy you. You're gonna have to make a decision--not just about Anna. About all of it."

"I know," Castiel murmured, almost inaudible. "I wish I could be as decisive as you and your brother are, despite the collisions it causes between you, and despite the rashness of some of the actions your mutual insouciance drives you to. But this isn't only me. I'm talking about serving *God*. Do I dare presume to know that my superiors are not doing the same?"

"Uriel wasn't. Superior or not."

Castiel exhaled shakily and continued. "That doesn't change the fact that it is beyond critical that I be right about it, before taking irrevocable action. Disobedience brings death, and serious danger of the same to those I love. I'd lose much of my power to protect--and if I were wrong..." his voice graveled into a choke. "I cannot imagine continuing...as any sort of being, if I'd disobeyed my father because some...sickness--some perversion of my nature as an angel, rather than genuine, objective need--prompted me to it."

Sam squeezed Cas's hand and was quiet a moment, then tried "Protection--you mean us? To protect us?"

"I mean you, and many angels of my acquaintance, some of my long and dear acquaintance. Anyone close to me. They would all be endangered by my actions, were I to do anything rash."

"You think of Dean and me as close to you?"

"You are close to me, whether or not you think of me as close to you."

Sam thought. "There's also the fact that if heaven were ordering you to mess with my head, make me stop doing...what I'm doing, by playing on my sympathy, you wouldn't also be ordered to do things that would make me resent you. Like what just happened with Dean."

"There's also my inability to dissemble realistically when it comes to human emotion, but I suppose you'd be taking my word for that anyway. As far as Dean...what has just happened...I don't know if I can apologize. I hated doing it, but I was ordered to, and there was no question. I did it."

"No, don't...don't apologize. I know you wish you hadn't been ordered to. But you can't honestly say you're sorry you obeyed, and you'd do it again, if you were ordered, hate it or not. I know you love Dean. I believe you hated it. Just tell me that."

Castiel stared pensively into the darkness, which doubtless wasn't entirely dark to him. Finally he said "I think I know why heaven assigned me to you, even knowing that I feel, and that I especially feel for the two of you." His expression was particularly blank. "And I would not be surprised if they knew that my long history with Anna has let me in for such feeling for her as well."

Sam fixed his eyes on Castiel's blue-glinting gaze in the dimness. He nodded. "All of it--the situations they've placed you in; where they've allowed you to place yourself. They're testing you."

"Yes. Setting a stage and seeing how the subject responds is a tool they often employ. They've done the same with too many humans to enumerate, including Dean." Cas paused, then continued "I've obeyed. But while that might be the question they primarily wanted answered...I still haven't reacted as *well* as I might have. I've used my latitude in ways that, while not expressly forbidden, are indicators of independent thought and feeling. Right now, for instance--I've received no directive to be here, now--to stay with Dean, talk with him when he awakened. Or to talk with you, now. I shouldn't care whether Dean's all right; I shouldn't desire to stay with him in case he has questions for me, and to give you a chance to breathe and think. That I'm the one who realized it was Uriel who broke the devil's trap, that he was the one killing our brothers and sisters...although they believe, as far as I know, that I killed him and ended the threat, I'm not sure how much that balances the scales in my favor, or whether it does at all. My superiors don't know about my talks with Anna, of course; they don't know that she saved my life. At least..." he shook his head. "I don't think they know. I'm slipping already, Sam. Despite my obedience to the letter of my orders...they know I'm…..compromised. They've known of my affection for Dean for some time. And I think they know there is more than that--you, as well, and even more, beyond the two of you."

Sam squeezed Cas's hand again. "What do you think will happen?"

Cas looked over at him, his expression open, considering. "Do you care?" It wasn't defiant, only curious.

Sam heard that, and dropped his gaze a moment; then he looked back up. "I feel a little disloyal--Dean's in the hospital because of your orders. And you're right, I'm the one who had to stop Alastair when you couldn't, using an ability that everyone--including you, *and* Dean--hates. And I feel stupid, because it's easy to imagine that your next orders might be to...get rid of me. I'm a demon-human cross--the actual definition of an abomination--and now I'm actively using the demon-contaminant in my blood that makes me one."

Castiel shrugged. "There's more to it in your case, most of which I'm unsure of." Castiel absently squeezed Sam's hand. 

"Anyway, what I was getting to is that--yes, I do care what happens to you. You and Uriel got Dean in some major shit, but I guess we know now it was Uriel--literally an insane murderer in your midst--that caused that?"

"It was. I have worked closely with him for centuries, though not as long or closely as I did with Anna. Despite my function as a sort of keeper for him, that familiarity blinded me to the possibility until I realized that there was only one way that devil's trap could be undone--nothing short of direct angelic sabotage. It did not come from me. Anna, the only other plausible suspect, is another like me; farther along, braver, but still, loving humanity, and all of our father's creation. And Uriel's contempt towards humanity is not a secret." Castiel shook his head a little. "I'm sorry my...feelings--blinded me, too long to save Dean from the consequences."

"You love Dean. I can see that. I can see you're miserable, but you can't let go of how you feel for him, and...I like the idea of an angel that loves him being in charge of him. I still have to say that I don't want anything bad to happen to you because of how you feel about us. Or because you doubt. I...believe, you know that--but I--in a sense, I doubt, too."

Castiel was quiet a moment, then said "You know, you saved Jimmy, as well as Dean."

"Jimmy?"

"My vessel. That's his name. I take the best care of him as I am able, and still perform my duties, as any angel may care for their vessel, but...I'm--ashamed, I think. I'm ashamed to say that many of my sisters and brothers don't bother to. In any case, Jimmy had just been impaled through the back before you showed. If I had been removed from him at the point that Alastair was attempting to send me back to heaven, I wouldn't have been able to heal him; Jimmy would have died. So, on both our parts...thank you."

Sam's eyes got big. "You're thanking me for using demon power? Even for good? My reasons never made a difference to anyone before."

"Only for this moment, perhaps, but yes, I suppose it is different to me in that it was Jimmy, a trusting and devout man in my close care, who was saved, not me--Alastair could only have temporarily sent me back to Heaven. Still--don't expect thanks very often for using your demonic abilities, at least not from me."

Sam chuckled, hearing an uncharacteristically light tone in Castiel's voice in that last sentence. "I don't expect it from much of anybody but Ruby--the demon, as you call her. But I'm glad you're all right. Your...Jimmy, too." They sat in the quiet dark for a moment, and Sam turned where he was sitting and leaned over, putting an arm around Castiel, pulling him close. Castiel shifted nearer on the bench to facilitate the embrace. 

He rested against Sam's chest. "Every time you touch me, I like it more," he said speculatively, as though pondering a puzzle. He wrapped his arms around Sam's torso. "Perhaps I'm becoming used to sharing deeper emotion through the medium of the material. It might only take experience."

Sam gave a surprised chuckle, lifting his other arm to rest it around Castiel. "I'll take that as a compliment, even though I think you only meant it as an observation."

"If I'd thought of it, it would have been a compliment...I'm still not very good with human interaction. I may never be."

"For that, I can forgive you," Sam said, into Castiel's messy, cowlicked hair.

"You *are* very forgiving," Cas murmured, a growl so low as to be nearly inaudible, mostly felt through Sam's chest. "Even where your brother isn't."

"I...think that answers my next question. I was going to ask whether you ever talked with Dean like this, but knowing Dean, it's kind of a stupid question."

Castiel rubbed his head a little against the side of Sam's neck, making a soft sound, a bit of pleasure and a bit of discovery. He said "No, not stupid. But you're right. Your brother and I discuss business, largely. He...is not one to easily make sympathetic noises, whether he feels sympathy or not. And I know that he does, sometimes."

"Yeah. He keeps a pretty tight lid on that kind of thing. But...well, I'm a softer touch. When you think you could use it." Sam squeezed Castiel a little.

"I may have to kill you. You know this, and you make such an offer anyway." Castiel clung a little tighter to the huge body he held. "Whatever else you are, Sam Winchester--however much in error, and no matter how dangerous you may ultimately prove to be--you are, in your most basic being, incontrovertibly noble and good."

Sam swallowed. "Uh. Wow. Thank you, I think?" Considering the total left-handedness of the compliment, Sam was amazed at the warm feeling--the literal spread of warmth through his body--that occurred when he heard those words from the angel. "Um...but I should say...about the maybe having to off me thing? I'm...this relaxed about it, because I don't believe you'd do it."

"Really?" Castiel sat back at little, enough to look at Sam, though he didn't let go. Once again, he only sounded curious. "You don't?"

"No," Sam said softly, smiling. "I know you wouldn't. I just hope, if it comes to it, that it doesn't cost you anything you can't live without, especially not your actual life. Too many people have died because they cared about Dean and me, or even just knew us."

"Sam...remember--I told you, you shouldn't have faith in me."

"Have you been terrifically impressed with my judgment so far?" Sam wondered, lifting his eyebrows. 

"Can I safely assume that question was rhetorical?"

"Yes." Even as part of Sam was ensconced firmly in the hospital room with Dean, and would be until Dean was released--he tilted his head and kissed Castiel warmly.

***

After the greatest disaster Sam could have participated in, he thought of Castiel. But shame burned up through his chest at the thought--how would Cas react? He had made no mention of what Sam had done when Sam and Dean had seen him in the storage shed, and he'd saved both their lives. He'd said nothing beyond what had to be said, considering the more-than-rumours of his death. 

Worst of all...what if he didn't answer?

Feeling far more alone than he had when he'd gone to college (that had only been college, *everybody* went to freaking college, which he'd never been able to get to his father or brother to understand), he remained, for weeks, silent in that part of his mind where he usually prayed, where he dreamed his few fantasies, and where he prayed to Castiel.

***

Sam lay wakeful, alone, staring at the plain white ceiling of his motel room. It wasn't the same one he'd been in before last night; he'd quit his job at the bar and grill and taken what pay he'd earned, and bid everyone a rapid farewell. No one--definitely not his badly-traumatized erstwhile admirer--had pressured him to stay. She'd only said she intended to believe, from now on, that people who were closemouthed about their pasts were probably that way for a damn good reason, and wished him luck. Her demeanor, as they spoke their farewells, reminded him loudly as a shout not to let the door bump his ass.

He'd hoped, until his conversation with Dean, that finding this new flop would be rendered unnecessary by the earth-shattering nature of his news. But it looked like continuing a string of quick-to-hire and easy-to-quit jobs, a series of cheap motels and sleeping rooms. He had known, of course, that his father, Dean, and himself were the closest thing the hunting world had to celebrities, as opposed to simply well-known, respected hunters. He'd already been recognizable, and hunters could track a mere human far more easily than John had managed to track Azazel. 

Finding a job in which he could use his college-acquired skills--without the paper to prove it--would have to happen in a big city, and it would take time. And in any case, it would be quite a while before he could stop moving, even in a sizeable metropolis. Plus, tax information was the most difficult and dangerous sort to fake; a job that took investigable paperwork lay far in the future. 

He could hustle pool as well as Dean--maybe better; his innocent/drunk demeanors were pure method acting, and far less convincing fakeroo on Dean's part, since Dean had been thoroughly divested of any scrap of innocence before he reached ten years old--and Sam's skill at darts was considerable. Learning to throw knives accurately made darts a walk in the park.

But day labor, he supposed, must be safer. Anyone as good as he or Dean at swindling swindlers out of their ill-gotten gambling gains would leave a trail like burning primacord to any decent hunter. He already had the easily falsifiable documentation for day labor; and the mailing address aspect, which was the biggest problem he'd face in leaving a trail, was eliminated thereby. 

And fuck. Just *fuckit*, he wouldn't cry. He forced himself to keep thinking, to plan. 

He thought about making some sort of radical alteration to his appearance; a haircut wouldn't help--his features would only stand out in sharper relief. And medium brown was already the most nondescript color hair could be. He had to be careful to balance altering his appearance with making himself even more noticeable. People stared at him on the street, due to his height. Put dyed hair on that and make it worse; and his height couldn't be disguised.

But--if he decided he could trust any of them, considering--he knew how to find witches, and other such adepts, who could arrange for anyone who saw him to immediately become foggy on the details. That wouldn't seem remarkable in itself. A large, strong young man, with only proof of US citizenship for ID? Take your pick, I had two dozen of them working this site yesterday. Here's the list of the names. Now let me get back to work.

Dean had left him with enough money that buying and maintaining a car--a piece of crap, okay, but something that ran--and keeping a cheap cell contract wouldn't be problematic until he could be certain of a steady, if initially meager, income. Calling Dean--his heart dropped into his gut at the thought, again--hadn't done him much good. But one other person *had* to be told about the walker in his dreams, whether that person wanted to hear from Sam or not. 

He gathered himself, took a steadying breath, and rolled over, picking his cellphone up from the bed table and hitting a preprogrammed number. 

Cas picked up, at least, immediately. "Sam," came a growl through the phone.

"Cas...I'm not sure if you're interested in talking to me any more--but I'm in Wichita Falls, the Knight's Arms Inn, room one-seventeen--and I really have to tell you this, it affects everybody and I--"

"I'm always interested in talking with you, Sam," Castiel said quietly; he was a shadow blocking the pale streetlight that seeped in around the edges of the curtains. 

Sam sat bolt upright, not in alarm, but startlement that Castiel had come immediately. "I didn't--uh, expect--"

Castiel said "I have something to tell you, too, but I should warn you that we haven't much time right now. You first."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay...I was heading anywhere, away from what happened...I'd stopped to work for a while, at a wide place in the road called Barber, Oklahoma. Apocalyptic signs started up not far away, and now I know why things suddenly got so hot and heavy in the ass end of an ass end state--it was my presence. But at the time, I didn't know that; I didn't know what I know now."

Castiel sat down on the bed next to him. "Begin at the beginning, but waste no time."

Sam felt no inclination to turn the light on. He slumped in the darkness, covered only by the bedclothes, unconcerned about it. He quickly went over the relevant aspects of what had happened--including having to spit demon blood out of his *mouth*; Bobby's insistence that he shouldn't give up hunting; culminating with Dean's refusal to accept him back in his life--despite Sam's news about being Lucifer's vessel--supposedly because of the danger they posed as long as they were together. 

"You don't think that's the reason Dean is unwilling to partner with you now," Castiel said, not asking.

Sam spoke calmly, through the tears that leaked down his cheeks. "No, I think he's too hurt. How I lied. That I trusted Ruby, that I...the way he put it was that I chose a demon over him. God, Cas, that wasn't it--Ruby was never anything but an ally, a means to an end. I'd never choose anyone but Dean, the way he meant it--Ruby and I used each other, both of us knew it...at least, I thought that was what was happening. It was *nothing* that could compare to what Dean and I are--were--fuck." Sam sniffed hard, rubbing roughly at his face. "But there's no way he'll believe me now, he's made up his mind, and there's no fighting it when he does that. Besides, I'm not sure I'd believe me if I were him. Even hearing that I was Lucifer's vessel didn't get more out of him than a too-bad-Sammy."

"He'll change his mind," Cas said quietly. "He'll see that everything you just said to me is true."

"How? It doesn't matter what my intentions were; his problem is that I lied to him so I could work with the demon he warned me about, which brought on Lucifer's rising. And that far, he's right."

"At the time, Dean objected to her only because she was a demon. No one knew that she was a mole; and, as those in such deep cover do, she had proven herself an ally, as far as anyone, including Dean, could see. He'd even taken advantage of her help more than once. You were not defiant; he has lied to you, in doing what he feels he must."

"It doesn't matter now, Cas, Dean has never been good at not doing the things to other people that he won't stand for having done to him. I lied, I'm a liar he can't trust. He lied, he was doing what he had to do. That's the way it is with Dean, I accepted it about him a long time ago. Anyway, you were right about what I was doing with Ruby--he was right, everybody was right except me. He told me he didn't trust me, could never trust me the same way again. I was--it hurt hearing that, I needed distance--and I found out I was handing him exactly what he wanted. To get away from me. But I was wrong, and he's wrong--I think now that splitting us up is *exactly* what everyone who's trying to use us *wants*, but if what I just told Dean doesn't make any difference, if he still won't take me back--nothing will make him."

"Sam." Castiel shifted, moving closer on the bed, taking Sam's massive, bare shoulders in his hands. "I know this is terrible for you, but I need you to listen. As much as Dean is everything to you, you're everything to him. I've been with him, since you separated, and I've heard him attempting to convince himself that he's happy apart from you, that being alone is what he wants. He's lying to himself, and extremely poorly. He even clings to *my* company. He is hurt, and still irrational with sorrow, not yet ready to forgive--but I tell you, he will. So you have to promise me you won't say yes to Lucifer because you believe you've lost Dean, this time by his own will."

Sam took a shuddering breath, angrily wiping saltwater from his eyes. "I won't." He steadied himself, and his damp gaze met the angel's. "Cas, did you know? That I was...Lucifer's vessel?"

"I believed I did, yes. But I had been cut off from the communication continuum with heaven, so I couldn't be sure. And I certainly couldn't put any further strain on your relationship with Dean because of a suspicion, no matter what it might be; I had to know for certain. But apparently, Lucifer lost no time, once you were separated from Dean, in attempting to court you. You're right; your separation is what those who wish to use either one or the other of you want."

"Cas...he showed up as Jess, I think to add weight to the idea that he could give me anything I wanted, even Jess back, even my mother, my dad--but I know they’re gone. Jess is gone. Even in the dreams, I knew that. But if he'd showed up as Dean?" Sam paused, then shook his head and continued "He said he wanted to give me a gift--give me everything. If it had been Dean--I don't know what I would have--"

Castiel cut off Sam's distraught words. "I doubt he'd have been able to take Dean's shape even in your dreams, and I know for certain that you would not want Dean back under those conditions--some simulacrum. You would not have taken that incentive, in the end; though I understand if you doubt yourself at this point. Jessica may have been the closest he could have come to someone who might actually convince you--twisting what happened to her, the reasons for her death, into some sort of...evidence that you had no choice but to accept him?"

Sam stared, very still for a moment. "That's...exactly what he did."

"Yes. If he came to you as Jessica, knowing how she died? There could be only one reason he'd take such an approach."

"I guess...I guess so. Cas, could I be endangering Dean the same way?"

"No, I think not," Castiel said. "The situation is entirely different, and Azazel is no longer part of the equation. Lucifer has...certain areas of powerlessness, when it comes to both you and Dean, as does heaven. But our time is limited. I must tell you something." He squeezed Sam's shoulders with the hands he hadn't moved. "I don't have time for detail now, but I promise that we will, if you wish, discuss it more later."

Castiel looked, in the faint silvery light, downcast. His eyes--beautiful eyes, Sam thought absently, waiting for Cas to speak--were shaded by the fluttering of lowered lids, long lashes. He said evenly "When you were released from the panic room at Bobby's--the cuffs were unsnapped, the door unlocked? And it could have been no demon, ghost, or other supernatural entity that the room was designed to defend against?"

Sam gazed steadily, finally whispering "It was you."

"I told you not to believe in me," Castiel rumbled half-audibly, miserable with the admission. "I had not rebelled yet. I was sickened, and filled with pain for you, but I did not follow my conscience. I followed my orders. It was my superiors' wish that you begin the apocalypse. They, and I, are as guilty as you are. No apology can make up for this wrong. But you must not believe it was only you who began this, no matter what anyone says to you, or does to you. Every bit as ignorant as you were of what you were doing, it was Dean who broke the first seal. It was my superiors who gave the order, and I who followed it, to release you so you could break the last. No one could have done it but you, so if I had rebelled only a few hours sooner..."

"But at least you were following orders you thought were--"

"I didn't think they were right and proper, or even too over my head to understand. I knew. And I do have individual initiative. I could have disobeyed *before* Dean harangued me so effectively, but it took his doing so--and a brief period of solidifying my resolve--before I could manage to act on my conscience. My being caught in fear and indecision brought this on us as surely as you did. You didn't bring on the apocalypse alone--no matter what anyone, Lucifer, Zachariah, even Dean says to you, it isn't so. You couldn't have done it without Dean, without Lilith planting Ruby to prepare you...and you couldn't have done it without me."

Dumb, shocked, his thoughts a racing mess, Sam nodded slowly; his eyes were wide and fixed on the electric blue of Castiel's. 

Cas continued. "Listen. I want very much to stay with you right now; I know how upset you are, and I believe you need a stabilizing influence--companionship, to use the human expression. But something has happened with Dean; it's probable that he's going to need me, badly, and soon. I believe he's been found by agents of heaven."

Sam felt all the blood drain from his face. "Shit. Oh fucking--we have to help him, Cas, take me--"

"You can't help, and you may do harm inadvertently. When I know for certain what's happened, I'll communicate with you, but--"

"Okay, go, quick, I'll wait; I'll be safe here for a while--call me--!"

"I will. Sam, have faith in your brother. He loves you more than life." Castiel leaned in and kissed Sam firmly, enough that Sam had just enough time to reach up and hold Cas's face in his hands, intensifying the kiss; they separated with a wet sound, and Castiel said "I won't let anything happen to him. I can promise you that, this time." He stood up, and in a rush of feather-flutter and a gust of wind, he vanished.

***

Sam and Dean had managed to dump Sam's junker at a used car lot for about half what he'd paid for it, which was more than he was expecting, considering how anxious Dean was to get rid of the thing; he seemed to find its existence a personal affront. 

They loaded the Impala with Sam's gear--his hunting paraphernalia was minimal, since he'd been planning to hide under hunter radar for the rest of his life--and headed northeast toward Colorado. Neither of them were interested in diving right into another job. Considering what had happened--and almost happened--to Sam at the hands of other hunters, they'd have to discuss what precautions to take. Sam suspected that Dean's idea of precautions would simply be disseminating via hunter rumour web that he and Sam were working together again, that he had had it with people screwing with his brother, and anybody who so much as looked at Sam wrong would be in the ground before the next sunrise, salted, burnt and pissed on for good measure. Since it would be Dean making the threat, and Sam he'd be working with to enforce it, Sam knew any casual attempts would be forestalled by that alone. Less casual attempts, they'd just have to be on the lookout for.

But having to dodge other hunters was going to be a pain for quite a while. They had been trained to track things much harder to pin down than other humans--trained by a practical school that no agency of the law could equal.

Sam unlimbered their stuff, while Dean checked into the motel they'd washed up against at about ten-thirty; they'd made it up through the Texas panhandle and into Colorado. Heading north just east of the Rockies, at least if you were on the Interstate, you didn't find much in the way of cheap little better-than-the-car joints; they stopped at a La Quinta about an hour south of Denver proper, instead. It was a nicer place than they usually frequented, and that couldn't hurt in terms of keeping their tracks brushed clear behind them.

Dean returned to the car with the key, shouldered some of the giant load that wasn't even making Sam blink--and didn't make Dean react much, either--and gestured toward the stairs that led to the second floor. Silently, Sam followed him. He wasn't quiet out of anger or upset; he simply didn't know what to say. Trying to fall into their usual banter right now would be so forced it might actually physically hurt, but they didn't know how to deal with the elephant that was tagging along behind them to the door Dean was opening. It wasn't the kind of thing they'd ever been good at. 

Sam was tired, and worried, and depressed, and freaked out; he was also grateful, and overjoyed, and scared of losing those last two. He dropped his duffel, and gently set his laptop, on one of the beds; Dean copied the duffel part on the other queen, then fell over on the mattress. The elephant had made itself comfortable between the beds. 

Since he was still standing, Sam went to make sure the curtains were as closed as they could get; like proper hotel curtains, they were totally opaque, even to light, over a set of sheers behind their heavy, stiff material. Sam paused there, head bowed, almost missing the car engines, the loud and often drunken commentary wandering by the window, the glaring neon and blaring headlights that were so much a part of their usual flops that they were more soporific to him than anything else. But it was clean, well-appointed, and, most particularly, thick-walled here--a family place, nice and quiet. Their second-story room's location muted even the occasional walking-speed engine rumble or headlight flash from the parking lot. Sam could come up with absolutely nothing to break the solidification of the space-time continuum as it continued to advance in their mutual, desperate silence. 

Finally, Sam turned around. Dean was still lying on the queen closest to the door. His eyes weren't closed, though; they were wide and brilliant green and open, and had been fixed on Sam's back. When Sam turned, Dean didn't withdraw the look; he only raised it to Sam's eyes. 

"I missed you every *fucking* second," Dean said roughly. "I did."

Sam swallowed, his eyes tearing. "You know I did, too. Every...the entire time."

Dean finally closed his eyes, took a labored breath, and then said "Come here. I'm going to tell you what made me call you. I'm not saying I wouldn't have otherwise, because I was starting to lose it, Sam, I swear. You can ask Cas."

"He kind of mentioned it already." Shucking his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the dining chairs, he came to the bed Dean was on and sat next to him, pressing his lips together in a nerving-up moment as he laid his hand over Dean's, not squeezing, just wrapping his fingers loosely around Dean's callused palm. They were going to have to touch sometime--unless they *wanted* that damned elephant to follow them around forever. And that was the sort of thing that was usually left up to Sam--initiating make-up touch, and this, too--refamiliarizing, he thought, maybe. Without trying, like a couple of idiots, to pretend that nothing had happened. Fucking *everything* had happened. 

"He did?"

What? Oh, Cas. "The night I called, you after I'd stopped at some place or other, I called him; I managed to work up the guts because he needed to know that Lucifer was walking in my dreams, and that I...was the optimal vessel. Cas came right away, but he said he didn't have much time--that you were probably in danger. He didn't say 'Zachariah' but that was the impression I got. He told me that...that you weren't doing so well on your own, no better than I was. He said you'd forgive me eventually. I don't know about that--you've given me a chance. You've taken me back. But I know what I did; everything I did. I won't forgive myself for a long time, if ever. Even if I thought I was saving the world with the things I did. I fucked up literally as bad as it's possible to. If it takes you a while, then it takes you a while. I just need to know..."

Dean moved his hand, interlacing his fingers with Sam's; he was motionless otherwise, only his eyes blinking slowly, huge green pools, confused and vulnerable, as Sam hardly ever saw them. He said "I don't know what I think about that...about 'forgiving'." "Think" was an easier word for Dean to say than "feel" and Sam translated as Dean continued. "But whatever you've done, and whatever I've done...I know I can't live without you. I turn into somebody I don't recognize, don't like. Even before Zach's horror show...me without you--I could tell. And it...I ached." Dean's eyes screwed shut as his turned his head away into the bedspread. "It hurts. I gave up worrying about our screwing each other years ago, but sometimes...the way I need you. I swear, Sam...I do love you--if letting you go was what would make you happiest, I'd do it now. But if you're not with me, I'm not right." Dean opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "And I dunno what to think about that. But I was a worse monster without you than you could ever be, Sam." 

"Dean," Sam interrupted softly, leaning down on one elbow, lifting his other hand to touch Dean's cheekbone and turn his head to face him. "This goes beyond the time we just spent split up, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's the reason...it's what I said I was gonna tell you. I just don't know where to start."

"Well, 'Zachariah' is a good place."

"Yeah. Uh, by the way, heaven's got a bunch of obnoxious witnessing humans doing their dirty work, since they can't find us directly. Stay the hell away from anybody carrying a Bible, unless it's me or something. Cross the street if you see them first, or bolt if they saw you first--or just turn around and duck into whatever cover there is. *Hide*, seriously. You're damned hard to miss and a hat and sunglasses aren't gonna do it."

"And maybe not for you, either, judging by the evidence." Sam shook his head, a grim smirk on his face. "Witnessing Bible-thumpers. That's low. I think there's a joke in there, but I'm not a big enough asshole to look for it."

Dean half-smiled, wearily. "I am, but I'm too tired. This is gonna be...the short version, because it hasn't sunk in that well. And it was...well, some shit, but..."

"But yeah, I gathered that. I can wait for detail. Hit the highlights."

"Actually, there isn't anything you could call a highlight in this particular story, but I'll do my best." Dean swallowed and took a breath, then began to speak. Sam reclined on one elbow next to him, still holding his hand loosely, listening. 

***

By the time Dean was done--there had been a few long pauses in his recitation, but never any interruptions from Sam--he was gravel-voiced. "Before we do the Q and A, I need beer."

Sam, his mind abuzz, managed "There's a convenience store in the plaza at the truck service. The choice won't be much, but..."

"But I'll take anything, yeah. Wait, though." He lifted his hand to Sam's face and pulled him down into a very--for Dean--hesitant kiss. 

Sam gave back, soft and moist, then a few more lingering, warm touches of his mouth to Dean's cheek, temple, and forehead. "Take a shower. I'll be right back."

"Watch yourself."

"I will, believe me."

"You packing? Besides the knife?"

"I'll stop at the car."

Dean reached for his jacket, pulling the keys out of a pocket. He tossed them to Sam. "This is just the kind of place hunters out for Sam-kebab would expect you to lower your guard, if they managed to track you here."

"I know that, Dean. I'll be fine. I used the last S.O.B.s who tried anything for punching bag practice."

"Am I gonna hear about that when you get back?"

"Not much to tell, but yeah. And I can and will watch my own ass for ten or fifteen minutes. Take a shower. I'll be expecting my turn when I get back."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean sighed, staring at the ceiling again.

Sam smiled a little as he shut the door behind him; Dean would probably be asleep in his clothes on top of the covers when he returned. Talking in depth was always exhausting for him. 

Sam took a single step along the walkway toward the stairs and nearly ran right over Castiel. "Argh--don't do that!"

"My apologies."

"Uh, we didn't call you. I mean, nice to see you, but how did you know where we were?"

"I've been following you, since Dean called you and set up the meeting place by the bridge."

"Oh. Uh, you could have just ridden along with me or something."

"I imagined you would need time to think before facing Dean, since I heard his end of the conversation, and it didn't promise you much of itself. And after you rejoined him, I doubted the complication of another's presence was something you and he would need in the car. It's...peaceful, at times, but a bit confining in there, even for you two."

"Yeah, the elephant was taking up a lot of space." Sam smiled and gestured to the puzzled angel to walk ahead of him; they proceeded toward the stairs. "You talk about being lousy with people, and maybe with social-code shit, you are, but where it counts? You're one of the most thoughtful people I've ever met. Definitely the most thoughtful angel I've ever met."

“Now, at least," Castiel muttered, almost inaudible. 

"It was always there in you, I think. You just couldn't let it out, because you had to stay closed up tighter than a duck's ass to keep anyone who could be dangerous to you from knowing how you really felt. *That* you felt. Punish you, or reindoctrinate you, as it turned out. Which didn't take."

"It did for a while." Sam would have sworn Castiel shuddered, whether at the fact that "it" took, or at the fact that it happened at all.

Sam decided it would be best to get off the topic, but he felt he had to add "I bet you wanted to think it did, more than it actually did. I bet you were too angry at what they'd done for it to really work on you."

"Are you like this with everyone?"

"Like what?"

"Dean calls it 'getting into his head'. He's asked me to refrain from it on a couple of occasions. I wasn't aware of what I was doing, until now."

Sam grinned, and shook his head. "No, I'm not always. But you and me...when we talk, we don't really make small talk. We don't even always talk about the current job, if there is one. We talk about you, and we talk about me. Deep stuff. We get into each *other's* heads."

"Perhaps you're right."

"You're going to chaperone me for a while, then?"

"For a few days. I want to be sure you're out of danger, for the time, from those who...know. And I want to guard your sleep, if you'll let me."

"You can do that?"

"I can't actually stop Lucifer. But I can make myself a serious irritant to him in any attempts he may make to seek out your weaknesses and turn them against you. I don't actually need to be with you, or even know where you are--any more than he does; and we are equal in strength in a dream. Also, his initial attempt, which he waited to make until you were separated from Dean, was extensively staged, and probably the most he could bring to bear against you; but it failed, and I doubt he'll try that again. I simply...want to be sure." 

"Um...there's a good chance Dean's going to want privacy with me this evening. Whatever we actually do. Sleep, most likely, but still."

"That had occurred to me. I think it will be all right; he certainly won't object to the reasons for my presence. And I can see that he's comfortable with whatever we arrange."

"You're pretty sure I'm not going to mind, either, whatever you do, aren't you?" Sam asked the question lightly, almost teasing. It was odd, how his mood had picked up suddenly.

Castiel raised his eyes to Sam, bright blue flashing in a glow of white streetlight directly overhead as he raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I am fairly sure of that." He was almost smiling. 

Sam laughed softly. "I think...I think I like how well you're starting to know me. Okay, how well you know me. I have to remember, you've known me at least a little while longer than I've known you, and in ways a human couldn't know another human. Or an angel."

"That's true. But if it matters--in spite of the integral impediments, you know me better than most of my family do. And I find myself comfortable with that."

Sam was deeply touched, and had to swallow before trying to lighten the moment so he wouldn't hug Castiel right here in the streetlight-illuminated maze of access roads and parking lots. "Even though I'm the boy with the demon blood?" Never forgotten that, eh, Sam? He winced internally. Anything to ruin a pleasant mood.

Castiel only nodded. "I think, perhaps, especially because of that. Because you are who you are, despite it. Because of how determined you are not to let it corrupt you, however misguided your path might have been for a time."

Sam smiled a shy smile and laid a casual arm over Castiel's trench-clad shoulders as they continued walking down a short stretch of asphalt access, to the truck stop servicing area with the mini-marts. He realized Castiel's abrupt arrival had knocked stopping at the car for a piece from the trunk right out of his head, for which Dean would kick his ass into orbit were it not for the reason he'd blanked; with Cas next to him, Sam hardly needed a gun to protect him from humans with ill intent. 

Dean was still awake when they returned, but only just; he came to barely-intelligible consciousness when he saw Castiel. "Cas, hey."

"Hello, Dean."

"Your beer, sahib--they had Sam Adams," Sam said, presenting the half-rack with a slight bow, which caused Dean to unthinkingly take the heavy cardboard crate while lying down, swear, and end up with it lying, with all the bottles shaken, across his midsection. "Asshole," he said mildly.

"I guess this means I get first shower. You might let Cas read your mind while I'm in there."

Dean's whole face furrowed. "What?"

"I mean, about what happened with Zachariah. Cas already has an idea, but he might have some useful input if he knew details. And as much fun as you had telling *me* about it, I doubt you want to go over all that again."

"And I also don't go around letting people read my *mind*. No offense, Cas."

"None taken."

"Suit yourself," Sam said, getting clean boxers and T shirt out of his duffel. "But he might be able to tell you what about the whole thing was Zach-induced crap, and what might not have been." Sam removed himself to the bathroom, concentrating on the happy anticipation of decent water pressure, which he got. He tried, for the moment, not to think about anything else, though he knew that was going to be a damn tall order for a long time to come. He blasted the water hot and scrubbed hell out of himself, as though he could do so literally. 

He emerged from the bathroom in a swirl of humidity; he paused, standing there in his shorts and T shirt, holding his worn clothes in one hand, and the towel he'd been applying to his hair going still. Dean appeared to be asleep--on Cas's shoulder. Sam was sure he hadn't been in the bathroom for more than about fifteen minutes, but four empty bottles were sitting on the night table of the bed Dean and Cas were on, and Cas, minus his trench and jacket, was lying on the pillow, Dean with his face in Cas's neck, apparently out like a light.

Sam gaped. 

"He won't wake," Castiel said calmly. "He decided that it would, in fact, be a good idea for me to know the details of what had happened to him in Zachariah's 'future' and he asked me to wait a few moments; then he drank four beers very quickly. I was concerned for his gastric system, considering the carbonation--"

"Dean's a pro at handling that."

"Yes, so I discovered." Undoubtedly remembering Dean's blue-ribbon belches, Castiel acquired a mildly disturbed expression, which vanished before Sam could grin at it. Cas continued "In any case, he then allowed me to read the pertinent information from his mind. Then he asked me to put him to sleep. I believe he was embarrassed. I tried to explain that I don't need to read anything save that which is relevant to the situation, but to no avail. I think...I think he misunderstood the fact that I was actually *trying*--rather desperately--to create intimacy with the prostitute he wished me to fornicate with--"

Sam controlled laughter, because he knew it would go hysterical quickly. "And it didn't do any good, believe me. I *know* he was embarrassed. You know, I didn't make that suggestion with any real expectation of his actually doing it. Is he okay? Um...the sleeping-on-you thing--he couldn't get that drunk on four beers."

"He...was upset, and a very little drunk, after all the details were brought to light; as I've said before, since you're human, and I'm envesseled, if I wish to show caring...I do admit to being surprised he was so receptive."

"Yeah, I suppose...though it's...no offense or anything, just kind of weird--I didn't figure Dean, like, in a million years, for hugging up to you." Sam didn't know what to think at the state of mind that must have been possessing Dean to curl up to Castiel, or to curl up to anyone at all out of upset. Even with Sam, Dean had to be pretty sloshed for that. But the rest of the crate slumped, near-full, against the bed, looking drunker than Dean could possibly be.

"If you've put him out, could you help me get him undressed? He hates to sleep in his clothes if he doesn't have to. We both do; we have to do it way too much, usually in the car." Before Sam could continue, Dean's outer clothes were on the low, double-wide dresser, his boots perched at the side, and Castiel was carefully getting up, tugging at the covers Dean was on to get him underneath.

Sam mobilized. "Uh, here, lemme help, I can do this blind drunk--"

Castiel gazed at him. "You aren't blind drunk."

Sam sighed. "I just mean I can do this with no problem. Here..."

While Sam maneuvered his unconscious brother into bed with the ease of long practice, Castiel stood by, watching calmly. He volunteered "He didn't give me the opportunity to ask about how he would prefer to arrange my keeping watch over you tonight."

"Hell, he's out, he won't care. Just take the other bed. I'm used to wrapping up with him in a queen size; we have to, sometimes."

"You're both rather large for even one of you to be completely comfortable in a bed that size. Especially you."

"It's a hell of a lot better than the car. Besides, Dean's paranoid; he won't get us a king, because we have this little problem--it seems like everyone and his bastard cousin that ever checked us into a place thinks we're gay lovers, not brothers."

"You *are*--"

"We don't exactly want it advertised," Sam said in exasperation. "And we don't know what we're doing that people think that. Sometimes I wish we looked more like each other." He was dragging Dean's back up to his own front so as to take the best advantage of the space. "Just chill or something. Hang your clothes up and stretch out. Drink a couple brews, maybe. Dean left most of the half-rack. Or grab a few winks."

"I don't need to sleep. Or consume food."

"What about your vessel? Host? Whatever?"

"The word is vessel, and my own energy supplies his needs. He's usually in a detached state, or unconscious. It depends on how upsetting he might find our surroundings. Sometimes he...requests to speak to me, asks to act or speak on his own, or just wants to observe fully awake. Usually not, though."

"He...doesn't ask this stuff in words, I take it."

"No. Any angel can pay that sort of attention to their vessel. I'm one of the ones who do. At the moment, Jimmy is...the closest approximation would be 'asleep'."

"But you don't need to sleep."

"No."

"Well…okay, do whatever works for you. Watch some TV if you want; just leave the lights off and keep the sound low."

"I'll be fine, Sam. Thank you for your concern."

Sam wrapped Dean close, feeling Dean moving sleepily back into his warmth; he rested his forehead on Dean's buzzed hair, hoping sleep would come soon. If it didn't, he might ask Cas to knock him out, too. He felt safe--for once, and for the moment--but his head was still a mess, and their angelic protector sitting right there in the room felt odd. Though Sam, thinking about it, decided that if it was all cool with Cas, he could get used to it, too.

***

Sam woke to being kissed, which wasn't unusual; he didn't bother waking all the way up, simply kissing back as it was convenient, letting Dean use nuzzling and light chewing on him to wake up, gradually waking Sam as well.

"Good morning," came a bedrock rumble from somewhere outside the universe of the bed Sam was sharing with his brother.

Dean made a sound that would have been called a squeak if it were anybody but Dean--it made Sam smirk, eyes still closed--and Dean dove under the covers.

"Relax," Sam murmured. "You didn't think he didn't know, did you?"

"That's not the point," Dean growled. "I thought Cas and I talked about the personal space thing already."

"He was helping me, guarding my dreams," Sam sighed. "And he hasn't got a problem, and I haven't got a problem, so unless you've got a problem, there isn't any problem." Sam blinked his eyes open and got his arms under himself to sit up. He did so, with a single mighty lurch. This rocked the bed sufficiently to dump Dean out the other side of it; he slithered between the covers to thud onto the floor. 

"Hey!"

Sam, by this time, was able to see Cas. He wasn't sitting on the other bed, fully clothed, as he had been when Sam buried himself in Dean's back and almost violently invited sleep to take him, which had worked so well--considering his level of in-head idiot fire drill--that he suspected Cas had done it. Instead, Castiel's clothes were hanging on the suit tree, looking freshly cleaned and pressed. Cas was lying in the other bed, holding the remote, watching TV with the sound off. The show appeared to be a pop sci program about the solar system. He couldn't imagine what Cas would see in such a program; but then, he couldn't imagine--now that he thought about it--what Cas would see in TV in general. Sam sat there looking at him until Castiel glanced over. "Is something wrong?" Dean was making resigned muttering noises from the floor.

"I guess not," Sam shrugged, with a half-smile, as Dean, still cussing quietly, climbed up and back into the bed for a moment, remembered what had startled him in the first place, and froze as Cas was sitting up in the other bed, dressed as the brothers were, in shorts and a T shirt. Sam and Dean, however, looked thoroughly slept in, rumpled and sheetmarked and bedheaded. Cas looked as though he'd just freshened up, changed into clean underthings and got in bed to watch some TV about five minutes ago. He was even shaved, for crying out loud. Only his hair wasn't pristine, and that didn't looked any more rumpled than it usually did.

"Uh, so I hope you weren't bored all night. Did you have to fight anything off of us?" Sam asked, clearing his throat, rubbing his eye and scratching distractedly with the other hand. Dean had flopped down and pulled his pillow over his head. 

"No, nothing. Your sleep was very quiet, and I detected no interest, blatant or covert, in you or in your car."

"You had something to do with that, didn't you? The sleep, I mean. My sleep is never quiet, and neither is Dean's, though we don't flop around much."

"Actually, I did. You were both very drained by emotional and physical stress. I regulated the alterations in your brainwave cycles and made sure your dreams were mundane and forgettable."

Dean peeked out from under his pillow, and finally, with an air of surrender, got out of bed, one long leg at a time. He stood and stretched hugely, things quietly crackling and popping all along his person. Sam watched a bit wistfully, but Cas had done him a rather large favor, so he wasn't going to complain about the lack of morning nookie.

"First shower," Dean grumped, bending over to dig in his duffel. 

"No argument," Sam said, taking in the view as Dean's t-shirt rode up over his tight-stretched boxers. "You didn't shower last night. Be my guest before you get ripe on us."

"Bitch."

"I love you, too."

"Sam!"

Sam only laughed, leaning back against the headboard. 

Dean nodded toward Cas while glowering at Sam. "So what's next? Wall sex in front of the guy?"

"Cas has seen far more graphic things than that, I'm sure."

"I have, actually," Cas said, absorbed otherwise in flipping channels. "Would the two of you like the illusion of privacy?"

"I--"

"No," Dean said firmly, pointing at Cas. "You stay where I can see you. Uh, within reason, not like when I'm in the can or anything. But if you're hanging around watching us, for…Sammy's safety, or any other reason, I wanna know where you are."

"Dean, it's just Cas," Sam sighed.

"Well, just Cas, if you're still watching out for Sam, it's time to get dressed and come have breakfast with us, okay?"

"Of course, Dean."

Dean was crossing the room with his shaving kit and a wad of material, and paused, looking at Cas sitting in the nearly-undisturbed bed, sheets folded back, but without a single wrinkle. He cocked his head in thought, causing Cas to cock his own head in puzzlement, and Sam had to hide his face in his hands to keep from bursting into laughter.

"That's not bad, for a start," Dean said, apparently moved to give Castiel a bit of encouragement. "But we have to teach you the rest of it."

"If you like," Castiel said, after a pause, gazing at Dean with a blank expression, eyes wide, clearly clueless. Sam pretended to be shaking his hair into place in order to hide a huge grin at the two of them.

Dean eyed Cas a moment more, then disappeared into the bathroom. Cas watched the bathroom door with a tiny, perplexed frown. "Sam, is Dean resentful of my presence?"

"Nah. He's fine. It's just been…only him and me, for so long. Then we thought we lost that." Sam's voice became quiet. He finished "Now we've got it back, and…he's touchier about some things than he used to be, and he's more protective of his space and his privacy than I am, and…he'll relax. I mean, you know he cares about you. He appreciates everything you've done for him, even though he sucks at showing it. He trusts you, and he thinks of you as a friend, or…really, more than that, I think. I think there are maybe one or two other people in the category we're in, to him."

"He has shown, in the past, both protectiveness and possessiveness of you. If I am that emotionally important, I believe I should ask--is he resentful of the physical affection you and I have shared?"

Sam smiled and got up, came over to sit on Cas's bed next to him, and took his hand. "He doesn't know about that; it hasn't really come up. He might freak a little--just considering it's you, I mean, and he doesn't think of you in that light. Yet, at least. But it wouldn't make him angry, unless we tried to keep it from him, treated it like some big secret. Then he'd be angry about the secret-keeping; not about the sex, though."

"Oh. That's good to know." Cas leaned forward and lifted his head to kiss Sam, using his free hand to touch Sam's cheek, steadying his face. When they separated, he murmured "As I believe I've mentioned, the more often you touch me…"

"…the more you like it; yeah, you said that," Sam smiled, sliding up against Cas and wrapping him close with one arm. "Feels better when you're wearing less, doesn't it?"

"I was just noticing that." Cas lifted his other arm and brought them both around Sam's body, his hands moving slowly over the huge expanse of Sam's back. "Is it…common, for it to be this pleasant, with so little effort?"

"It is if you like the person you're touching."

"I love you," Castiel said softly, with a brief nod, as if verifying to himself that it was all working correctly. 

Sam was quiet for a moment, then squeezed Cas's person gently and said "I love you, too. If getting royally pissed at someone occasionally meant I couldn't love them, I would utterly hate Dean, I can tell you that."

"I've been extremely angry with you or Dean on a number of occasions, and disappointed as well," Castiel said, letting himself be pulled closer. "It hasn't affected my love for either of you. Perhaps because the anger and even the disappointment stem from concern for you."

"Mad because you're worried? I have definitely been there. Dean has too." He leaned down and kissed Cas's mouth softly, slowly, but not deeply--he didn't know if angels gagged on morning breath, but Cas seemed to be reacting to this like a human to at least some degree; no need to gross him out.

Cas wasn't grossed out, and morning breath didn't appear to be an issue; when Sam would have pulled back, Cas reached up and caught the back of his neck. Sam found himself, in a moment or two, completely engrossed in making out with the angel. It wasn't urgent, no rapid escalation; it was caresses, stroking touches, letting long hair slide between fingers, tracing lines of muscle and bone in faces and necks and bodies. Sam felt the spreading of actual physical warmth through him that had occurred before at certain words or touches from Cas. 

Their mouths separated for a moment, only to trace cheekbones or move gently on each other's throats; nuzzling Sam's cheek, the growl of his voice more tactile than audible, Cas murmured "This is…this is extremely pleasant."

"Yeah," Sam managed to agree in a whisper, and thought he was doing well to get even that much out, but he mustered himself and added "You're good at it, too."

"That's gratifying. I'm glad you like it. Do you think that…that Dean might, as well?"

Sam had to rest his forehead against Castiel's and smile broadly, panting a little, so as not to choke a laugh into Cas's neck. "I think he might, but you'd have to sort of work up to it."

"Ah. It requires…finesse in approach."

"It would with you and Dean. But I do think he'd warm up to the idea. Like I said, he's…well, he's an asshole, but he cares for you.He likes his rolls in the hay with random hot chicks, but you…" he kissed Cas's closed lips briefly, and finished "He might be leery, because you're family. It's…important." He rubbed his face against the top of Castiel's head, disordering his cowlicks. 

"'Rolls in the hay?'"

"Sex. Purely recreational sex, had between people who are just looking for a night's entertainment. What you and Dean would be doing…it's closer to what you've heard referred to as 'making love'. Like it is when he and I do."

"And you think he might…?"

"Yes." Sam lipped carefully at Castiel's ear, and the angel shuddered. Hot-button ears, Sam thought. 

"And you?" Cas whispered. "Because I…"

Gently, Sam moved a hand to Cas's sheet-covered lap, and felt firmness there that made Castiel gasp at the touch, in spite of the light pressure. 

Sam moved his hand and pulled Castiel close with both arms, holding him tight; Cas wrapped his own arms around Sam and held hard, almost too hard. Sam whispered "Can you make that go away for now? We've got Dean in the shower, and he's gonna be surprised enough without…without our going any farther right now. But yes, to answer your question. Definitely, yes."

"I can control it. The human body has many autonomic reactions I must manage. As for this particular response…it's the first time I've wished I didn't have to control it."

"I'll take that as a compliment instead of an observation."

"I meant it as a compliment."

They began kissing again, sweet and warm, relaxed and comfortable, and they were lost in it when the bathroom door opened.

For a moment, there was no noise; then a stertorous throat-clearing sounded. "Hey! Funboys! I have arrived in the room, all right? For God's sake, when were you going to tell me about this?"

Sam smiled a little as he looked over at Dean, and pulled Cas close in his arms again; the angel moved into them without hesitation or awkwardness. "When it came up," Sam answered Dean truthfully. "Looks like this is it."

"No *shit*." Dean was in jeans, barefoot and shirtless, hair dark with moisture; he glowed with hot-water scrubbing. Sam's arms tightened a bit on Cas as he controlled the groan of appreciation that tried to leave his chest. Dean stomped over to his duffel to find a clean shirt. "Why am I the last to know anything with you, Sam?"

"You never ask."

Dean froze a moment, then continued pawing through his clothes, coming up with a dark blue t-shirt that he immediately started hauling over his head. Sam--and, Sam noticed with a subdued smirk, Castiel, whose head was resting on Sam's shoulder--watched him closely through this process. "Jesus, that's nice," Sam whispered. Of course, right then, a lot of people would have looked nice. Dean just happened to be his personal list-topper, closely followed by Castiel. 

Cas said "That's not Jesus. I'd know," and Sam realized, in astonishment that hadn't even surfaced at Castiel's very delicate and arousing use of tongue--when he'd apparently had no practice on anyone but Sam--that Cas was making a joke. Not a good one by any stretch, but still. Sam kissed his ear nibblingly as a reward, making Cas close his eyes and smile a tiny smile, as a little shiver ran across him. 

***

"He's gone," Castiel said, appearing in the bedroom door behind them, looking himself again. 

Dean blinked, then said "Where?"

"I don't know. Jesse put everyone in town back to normal--everyone still alive. Then he vanished."

"Hey…" Sam reached for a folded paper on Jesse's bed.

"What does it say?" Dean said.

"That he had to leave to keep his parents safe. That he loves them, and…he's sorry."

"How do we find him?" Dean demanded of Cas.

Castiel was quiet. "With the boy's powers, we don't. Not unless he wants to be found."

***

They took a room that night in Norfolk, a city with amenities like drycleaner/laundromats and moderately-priced stores for the things that they had to buy legitimately. There were also chain stores where people would automatically take their plastic and not look closely at their faces. There were bars and pool halls sufficient to bullshit the bullshitters a little here and a little there, to get some genuine coin of the realm in their pockets again; and the motel they found was surprisingly sound and well-run for the price. They paid for a week, which would give them time to look for another job, plus take care of what needed it. In case of emergency striking before the week was up, they could forfeit the extra days' fee and be elsewhere before anyone suspected they were leaving. They kept the majority of their possessions, as they were repaired, cleaned, or replaced, locked in the car parked outside their room door.

Both of them were trying not to imagine possibilities concerning Jesse being found and used by either heaven or hell--or, since he was a savvy kid, being found, screwed with, and getting pissed to the point he blew a large contingent of either or both sides out of the sky. Or started using his powers in that area as he saw fit, on his own--which could turn into a consecutive-panic clusterfuck for the Earth contingent as well.

Possibly, like some of Azazel's children, he would simply try to fit in, using his powers only as necessary for his survival. If he'd felt a serious need for adult companionship or protection, he'd have gone with Sam and Dean--particularly Sam. But Jesse was already used to taking care of himself, since, like most kids these days, both his parents had to work to keep the family above water. He wouldn't have wanted to be alone, but he would've known, even with no more information than he had, that the safest thing for everyone was just that--for him to go alone and stay under the radar, until he learned to hide himself so that neither apocalyptic side could find him. At least one demon--his "father"--could identify his last location as Alliance, and as smart as Jesse was, he wouldn't risk going back there, endangering himself and all his human parents. 

So they hoped, at least; he was a kid, and kids separated from their parents got lonely. The orphans currently getting settled in their motel room had reason to know. 

Inside, the place they'd stopped at was all right, atmosphere-wise. The air was a bit redolent of bleach-based cleaner with cedar chips added to mitigate the harsh aroma, but too clean was way better than too funk. In Nebraska, summers were hot, but the air-conditioning unit worked fine, and even fairly quietly. 

"So where do you think he is?" Sam wondered, setting his laptop up on the round Formica dinette table. There was a lamp over the table, in addition to the bedside lamps, but Sam didn't turn it on. As he started the computer, he was lit with the soft glow of the startup. 

"Who knows? He's a kid. Disneyland, maybe. Or the beach in Australia, with a surfboard twice his height and a can of Sexwax in one hand. I mean, judging by that poster over his desk. I wish him luck. And I wish him brains. I just hope he stays out of sight."

"I didn't mean Jesse, though I hope all the same for him."

Cas had followed them down the stairs, but when he'd failed to follow them to the front door and close it, they'd looked back to see a few loose papers fluttering in the rattling house to a dying breeze, and no angel.

Dean shrugged. "He probably feels like a fucking moron. Or an asshole. Either of which would be reasonable."

"And you don't care where he is or how he feels, that being the case?"

Dean looked up from unpacking the few things he'd be putting into the dresser and the bathroom. "Kinda surprised you're asking."

Sam looked up too, from his tapping of keys. "What do you mean?"

"I saw your expression when he said what he said to you. You looked like you'd been punched in the stomach. It was a shit thing for a friend to say."

"In case you've forgotten, it was exactly the kind of low blow that you aren't above where that topic's concerned, either." His voice was deep, clipped and cold. "You've got no right to judge."

Dean stilled a moment, eyes motionlessly focused on the top of the dresser where he'd been unloading his washing.

Sam waited a moment; when no one moved, he relented a bit. "Yeah, I felt slapped. Hard. By someone I trust. That isn't a new experience for me, though."

"Sam, you keep telling me you've changed, that you'll do everything you can to change if I'll just *let* you. Now you're defending Cas for saying something to you that you'd tune me out for a week over! If I said to you that a year ago, that you'd have done anything it took, that when you had all the facts in front of you, you made the wrong choice and--"

"He was saying that because I was a grown man, and Jesse is a kid. Jesse didn't have anywhere near the general life experience, or the experience as a hunter. If I made the wrong choice, what chance did someone like Jesse have to make the right one?"

The real issue--that Dean would have been on the floor with a couple of loose teeth if he'd been the one to say to Sam what Castiel had--loomed between them, but neither of them would back down enough to say it. 

"I have the right to feel however the fuck I want," Dean growled, pulling a bottle of single malt out of his duffel, as if to punctuate the statement.

"You know none of us are guiltless," Sam said, more quietly, still tense. "Cas told me so himself. It was Cas who told me not to forget that no matter what anyone at all said to me, it was not solely my responsibility. Dean…Cas didn't want to hurt a child. He never wants to hurt innocents. But he'll do it for the greater good, just like we will, like we have, too many times to count--the Rising of the Witnesses? Remember that? It's only one example."

"Sam." Dean's voice was oddly quiet, very suddenly. He sat down on the bed nearer to the table and the chair Sam occupied, leaning forward, elbows on knees, rubbing his face tiredly with both hands. "Are you defending Cas to me or to yourself?"

Sam looked away, his throat working a little, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Both, I guess. I guess you're right, there. But I know what he was saying, and why he was saying it. He was really, honestly scared. Have you ever seen him look like that before? Upset, yeah, but he was…terrified. He was radiating it. He gave everything up for you to stop me from breaking the last seal. Well, we blew that. Now stopping the apocalypse is all he's got left. Faith in us--in you--is what he lost everything for. Can you blame him for going a little medieval on my ass when I didn't seem to be taking the threat seriously enough?"

"Okay," Dean sighed. "You've made your point. Where the hell is he, anyway?"

Sam murmured "I'd call him, but the way he left--I mean, he usually just vanishes on us, but this felt different. He probably feels like a jerk for trying to kill Jesse out of knee-jerk terror, and he probably also feels like a moron for having--for even a second--thought he might succeed. And…I bet he's really sorry for what he said to me."

"That covers it, approximately, at least," a quiet, graveling voice came from the direction of the bathroom. Neither brother jumped, Sam simply lifting his head, Dean turning to look over his shoulder. Cas was standing with his eyes focused on the short-shag carpet that was patterned in different shades of swirling gold and brown. "Will you accept my apology for the things I said, Sam? I know you realize I…it's just that I still…"

"You still feel you should apologize, and yes, forgiven. Scared people…say things. Even angels, if they have a big enough reason to be scared. Okay now?"

Castiel shook his head minutely. "It will take some time. As much as I care for you both, I must remember to treat you as allies, not…wards, not people who are incapable of understanding the full breadth of danger. Not any more."

"I'm feeling you, Cas," Dean admitted, with a self-deprecatory half-smile.

Castiel continued looking blank. "I'm not touching you."

"He means he understands what you're saying because he feels the same way, about me in particular," Sam supplied, as Dean just let his head fall into his hands in exasperation. Sam got up, going around the beds and past the TV and desk, setting his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," Castiel said at once, reaching up to slide his fingers into Sam's hair, using the light grip to turn Sam's head a little to complement the tilt of his own as Sam leaned down to him. 

"Um," Dean said distinctly after about half a minute. 

Sam gently broke the kiss, pulling Cas carefully against him as he looked over his shoulder to say "Sorry," to Dean. 

"I can…uh…" Dean made vague motions at the door. 

"It's nearly midnight," Sam pointed out.

"Dean," Cas rumbled quietly, kissed Sam's cheek, and gently disengaged from him, moving toward Dean. He sat down on the bed next to him and said "Thank you for forgiving me, as well. I know the things I said--and did--seemed conscienceless to you. I can only plead my great alarm on discovering a true, living antichrist. Such have been reported continually in church writings for centuries; but, whether believed by the humans involved in the reporting and taking of action or not, such cases were false almost without exception, usually involving infants born out of wedlock. It isn't an easy matter--to put it mildly--for a demon to impregnate a human woman. It was undoubtedly accomplished in this case only with a great outpouring from energy resources, and only because of the cruciality of the current situation. But a real one…now, with Lucifer risen…"

Dean tried "Cas, me and Sam have had it out. We didn't act as well as we could have either--okay, I didn't. It's done with." He reached over and laid his hand on Castiel's where it rested on the bedspread. "You did what you had to. And you also probably suspected it wouldn't work."

"I did. I was…reckless, because I believed there was no time at all to be lost. I am glad Jesse stopped me. And that he did so without irreparably damaging me. The highest demons of hell could not kill me--banish me, but not kill me…but Jesse could have."

"Shit," Sam muttered. "He can kill angels?"

"He can do anything. He. Wants," Cas said tiredly, as though repeating an old lesson. "I have seen the weaknesses of humanity, especially of children, whose nature it is to choose the path of least resistance, for thousands of years. I had not reckoned with the possibility that Jesse could deal with the nature of his being in so mature a fashion. It's a mistake I won't make again." He stared at the floor, lacing his fingers with Dean's. 

Dean squeezed his hand a little. "So, um, Cas…I know you've been really intensely busy lately and all, but maybe you could…take a break tonight, stay with us. Maybe even hang out tomorrow a little. We've got some chores to do; it'd go faster if we had someone to talk to besides each other."

Sam smiled, but didn't say anything. Cas said "Dean…before--substantially before--you and Sam were all that I had, I loved you, and I wanted to trust you. To trust humans as individuals, to respect them to that degree, was difficult for me, not because of any feeling of superiority on my part…but because what makes you superior to us is what makes you unpredictable, to put it mildly. Now, you and Sam *are* all I have in my quest to stall the apocalypse until we can somehow shut it down." He looked up at the wide-eyed Dean. "I respect you in a way that I was taught was neither possible nor desirable, and it is *imperative* that I trust you. I've done a poor job of that over this matter." He turned his head to look at Sam where the latter was still standing motionless, hardly breathing. "I want you to know that I'll attempt to do better in the future." 

"Cas, shit." Dean leaned over and grabbed Castiel in a hard, awkward hug. "Sam and me, we're used to pain-in-the-ass personalities and heads as hard as concrete. You're in good company, dude." He pulled back a little, enough to look at Cas. "And I get it, I see what you're saying, about what you have and don't have, now--so we'll try to be a little more worth having, okay?"

Cas touched his face lightly, and the intensity of the question that had been between them from the beginning, but never answered by either of them, was palpable even to Sam. Dean nodded a very small nod, then leaned forward to meet Castiel's kiss. 

Unlike the slow, careful way it had gone with Sam, Dean quickly slid a hand around the back of Castiel's neck and deepened it, making it rapidly harder and more intense, a cooperative-struggle sort of kiss. Cas didn't seem to have any trouble keeping up with that, even leading after a moment or two. Sam, gazing in rapt attention, wondered what it would have been like if they'd given in to that intensity sooner. Would Cas have been dragged back for reindoctrination even earlier? Or would he have learned to keep his feelings more hidden, his agenda more covert to his superiors, with assistance from Dean? That wasn't something Sam felt he'd have been much help with, himself.

***

Castiel was standing near the door of the warehouse, staring up at the sky. 

As Sam was getting into the car, Dean called "Hey, Cas! Need a lift?"

Castiel turned and looked at him, with a puzzled head-tilt. "Of course not."

His door still open, Sam called "That means he wants you to come with us, Cas. I do, too."

"I see." Castiel walked over to the car, wiping at his face--the blood and scabs came away, leaving pristine, golden skin--and got into the back of the Impala while Dean was glaring impatiently at Sam for translating for him again. Sam paid no attention. 

Sam and Dean got in, and Dean, starting the car, asked "Cas, where did that asshole send you?"

"Nowhere I couldn't handle."

"Where, dammit?" Dean repeated, already impatient, still full of leftover pissedness at Gabriel.

"An outer circle of Hell. Leaving was a simple matter of--"

"It can't have been simple. It took you a while to get loose the first time, and both times you were bloodied," Sam said, looking back over the seat at Cas. "How did that happen?"

"Demons. Being irritating. They knew they couldn't stop me from leaving, but they could certainly delay me. Especially if they ganged up."

"You killed them?" Dean wondered.

"I didn't need to. They had no claim on me and no right to harm me. Things work a bit differently in the supernal realms than they do on Earth, or perhaps more than a bit differently. In any case, I would eventually have been *required* to leave; angels can't be held in hell without being damned by the Father himself, though other angels may carry out the order. I have rebelled, but I am not damned. They simply…harassed me. Many, many demons were angels once, and carry much hostility toward the rest of us."

"You didn't get…harassed when you rescued Dean, did you?" Sam asked curiously.

"It's a bit different in a vessel, and without the support of a direct heavenly connection. I had to send Jimmy into complete obliviousness to defend his sanity."

"Oh, so they were screwing with your host," Sam said.

"Trying to." Castiel, with his immobile face, projected bored and annoyed as well as Dean at his most childish could do it. "I eventually reached a portal, the first time; the second, I had almost reached another when Gabriel brought me back."

"Are you sure you're all right? You were…for you, pretty flustered," Sam said nervously.

After a pause, Castiel said quietly "I'm fine, Sam. No worse than annoyed, and Gabriel has that effect on most people."

"No shit," Dean agreed fervidly. "What he did to Sam--killing me a hundred or whatever times, for *fun*, have a good laugh at Sam's agony--leaving him alone for six months, driving him to the point of--I can't even think about it. What he put Sam through."

"You went through worse. For longer," Castiel said. "It took heaven some time to find you. I was dispatched as soon as your exact location was known, but--"

Dean snapped, as they reached the freeway and began to accelerate, "We aren't talking here about a crossroads deal--that was hell and its fucking demons doing what they do. Gabriel, king Fucktard, screwed with Sam that bad to make some kind of lame-ass *point*? He's not even a demon, there's no brownie points in it for him, nothing, and besides, he jumped ship! He has no right to be arguing for heaven's side, he *abandoned* heaven's side. Or anybody's side but his own."

"I agree that what he's done to you both is unforgiveable; I certainly don't condone it, and if my power were anywhere near equal to his, I'd have stopped it. But I can--if I work at it--understand his disillusionment, my being a rebel as well, if of a different sort. If I had the power, I might disguise myself as something outside the Judeo-Christian-Islamic hierarchy, as well." 

"I kind of wondered why you never had, once we found out about him," Sam said. "He can only hide his real nature from the folks back home because he's powerful enough?"

"Yes, for one thing. He is also duplicitous enough, a quality which I have barely begun to learn. Also, he was willing to kill the former owner of the title he now holds and take his place. Even if I had the other requisites, I would be unwilling to do that--although, even at my level of power, there are many entities I could overpower for the purpose of using their identity as a disguise."

"Well, shit." Dean and Sam exchanged a big-eyed look as Dean spoke. "I didn't think about that. If he's hiding as a non-Judeo-blah-blah god, he must've…shit, I mean, gods--or demigods or whatever--don't jump out of the sidewalk cracks. He'd have had to take the place of a known one. And if that one was dead *already*, he'd stand a good chance of being found out fast, because *somebody* on some otherworld plain would know that a god had *died*. So he shows up as this god and at the very least, someone informs on him and he gets dragged upstairs in whatever manacles will hold an archangel. He could only get away with it by killing some pagan deity within his power to axe, and taking his place on the sly. The guy *really* doesn't give a fuck about anyone but number one." Dean growled, shaking his head. "I'd've hated his ass for what he did to Sam anyway. This is just frosting."

"As you mean 'give a fuck', I'm afraid you're right--he doesn't," Castiel said, his voice now flat and clipped. "I'm only a malakh. He is an archangel. He could give my search for God a chance of success…a much greater chance of success, I mean. But you are right. He doesn't care."

"You're not an 'only' anything, Cas. You've got more gumption in your little…whatever it is you have in your natural form than that asshole ever had. You're trying to *do* something, even just with what you have, and he's just fucking off into the sunset with all that power. He doesn't hold a candle to you as an angel, man," Dean growled. 

*** 

Sam's voice was so frustrated Dean thought he could feel a spray of spit through the phone and into his ear. He told himself that it wasn't--mostly--him that his brother was pissed at; he was as grief-wracked as Dean, and as worried about Cas. 

"Of course I care," Dean snapped, and slumped where he was sitting on the edge of one of the full-size beds Bobby had finally moved into the spare room that Ellen--Jesus, Ellen--had swept out and freshened up in a businesslike manner upon her and Jo's arrival, afterward cleaning up the second spare room for herself and Jo; that one had been Bobby and his wife's, and contained the bed his wife had brought with her to the house, a canopied four-poster king.

Dean had the window of his and Sam's room open. He didn't really know why; it was chilly out, and it wasn't like Castiel needed it open to fly through. And Sam wasn't going to climb in that way. 

"Sam, dammit, c'mon, he could be anywhere, we might as well look for Jesse. Cas could be in Mumbai or Reykjavik or the bottom of the Mariana Trench or on the fucking moon. He'll show up when he wants, he always damn well does, doesn't he? I know he likes it outside, he likes to look at the sky, but if you think you're going to find him by driving over every state highway in South Dakota--"

"Tell Sam he can stop what he's doing. Tell him he can come back," came a monotone gravelling from the end of the bed.

Dean had a minor cardiac event, sighed a couple of breaths, and said "Cas just showed up here, Sam, and he says for you to come back. No, I won't, you can talk to him when you get here. Now bring back my fucking car." Dean clicked off.

Then he looked over at Cas. In the light from the bedside lamp, the angel's eyes shimmered oddly. Castiel managed somehow to convey the entire gamut of human emotion while barely altering his stance, expression…when he got angry was as close as he got to truly humanlike expression. Dean had no idea how he did the rest of it with only those incredible eyes. 

"I left," Castiel said quietly. "If I had been with you, I could have defended you from the hellhounds."

"And if I hadn't fallen on my face, Jo wouldn't have had to turn around and cover me while I got my ass back up. You were doing your job, it was something no one else could have done--"

"But you did. I left you only to find out why the reapers had congregated. You learned that on your own. All I managed to do was get trapped by Lucifer too long to--"

"You couldn't have taken them all on at once," Dean repeated impatiently. "You told us, you can't kill demons like you did befo--"

"But I could have physically fought them! I can *see* them, and you can't--my weapon will kill them, I'm stronger than they are, and I can still break a hellhound's neck, which no mortal can do, and then the hellhound *dies*. I can heal my own vessel, no matter the degree of damage. Had Jo been injured anyway, I could have flown her to a hospital and returned to you when she was in competent care." He looked away from the soft lamplight, and his face became invisible, blackly shadowed. "Instead, I was standing powerlessly in a ring of holy fire, being taunted by Lucifer and one of his repulsive get." He dragged in a deep breath, and then stood there holding it, as though he had no idea what to do with it; finally he let it out, and then he was still.

Dean heaved himself to his feet and came over to Cas, laying a hand on his shoulder. Cas tried to shrug him off, and it turned into something like a struggle, which Dean would have been foredoomed to lose if it had been serious; but it only took Dean's getting a solid grip and administering a frustrated but settling shake to Castiel's person. He pulled the trench-clad body into his arms. 

"Shhh," he whispered, although Castiel, his head fallen to rest on Dean's shoulder and his hands gripping Dean's back a little too hard not to hurt, was making no sound. "Relax. Just…stop thinking, all right? Shh…" Damn it, where the fuck was Sam? Dean felt like getting so blasted he'd never get rid of the double vision, and maybe screaming imprecations to heaven, and here he was, comforting an angel. Before trying to comfort anyone, he'd wanted to get well and truly plastered. He hadn't even made a start at that before Sam took off with the fucking car, Bobby had locked himself in the library, and Dean had realized that between them, those two had all the easily accessible booze. 

And shit, here was Cas. He was hurting, and Dean didn't know what to do with a hurting angel. He pretty much only knew what to do with his hurting brother. Worse, from what Ellen had said about an abruptly ended game of shooters, Castiel couldn't get drunk.

Cas made to pull away. "I'm sorry, Dean. This isn't about me. I'm being selfish."

Dean hauled him back by main force--that couldn't happen unless Cas let it happen, and they both knew it, but Cas did let it happen. Dean told him, in a quiet, tightly controlled voice, hissing sharply into his hair, "You're allowed to feel like shit too, just because they're gone. Not because it was your doing. It was one of hells many bitches and her dogs." Dean squeezed, pressing Cas's head to his neck and holding it there. Dean was no fucking good at this. They needed Sam. "Listen to me. Ellen and Jo knew you were doing what needed doing at the time. There was no fucking way to tell we were gonna end up pinned down in a hardware store with a functioning shortwave in it, and through sheer luck manage a conversation with Bobby that would let us know what was what. You needed to find out why those reapers were there."

Castiel didn't answer; he gripped Dean tightly--just below the pain threshold--for a few minutes; then he pulled back, and this time Dean let him go. They stood lightly holding each other's arms, as Castiel looked at him with shimmering, undripping eyes, and said "I'll wait for Sam. I came so he'd stop looking for me--grief is making him a bit…irrational. Once he's seen I'm fine, I'll let you alone."

"Oh, no you won't. This is no time to be alone. Yeah, we'll be in our own little worlds of shit for a while, but none of us is totally going off alone. I don't know how angels are, Cas--but humans need each other at a time like this. We need to have each other at least in reach, if not in our faces. And…we're what you've got. I mean…if there's something you gotta do--go to the Himalayas and bring down a few avalanches or smash some trees or whatever, do it, but come back--come back to us. Or don't, just stay here with us. There's so few people we can trust now, and--" he was appalled to feel tears in his eyes; he dashed them angrily away with his knuckles. "We need you here. I need you here. Sam really fucking needs you here."

Castiel sighed. "I don't need to go cause any snowslides," he said, lightly squeezing Dean's left forearm; Dean had let go of their mutual armgrab with his right hand to wipe his eyes. Cas added dully "But I might attempt to get drunk." 

"Then it's gonna be BYOL."

"BYOL?"

"If you even *can* get drunk, we don't have enough booze on hand for you to do it. You'll have to clean out a liquor store or something."

"I can't pay for that, and I won't rob an honest merchant--"

"Here." Dean fished in his pocket, and thrust a credit card into Castiel's hand. "This one works."

Castiel looked at the card and said, with a puzzled face, "Ace Frehley?"

"Yeah, sure. You're an ace all the way, right?" He patted Cas's shoulder, thinking, Christ, I am a douchebag. 

Cas sighed tiredly. "It constitutes robbery."

"The store owner will get his money. Only the asshole eighteen-and-a-quarter percent charging credit company will get stiffed, and they are minions of Satan. Or, uh, whoever. There're dozens of liquor stores in Sioux Falls. Go buy one. Wait--" The sound of the Impala roaring up was audible through the window. "Fly down to Sam. He'll know what to get and how much. Tell him I said for you guys to make the run, because you need anesthesia, too. I'm gonna check on Bobby, if that's possible yet."

*** 

Dean had finally figured out that the other spare bedroom door was shut, and the room that would have been his and Sam's was vacant. He'd already done Of course, there'd been a laborious check of the rest of the house, and a check on Bobby, who'd gotten himself settled better than Dean could have done it, at least at the moment. 

Dean leaned on the knob with one hand enough to steady himself, but his current state of extreme physical relaxation caused his wrist to bend under his weight, turning the knob and nearly dumping Dean onto the floor as the door swung open. He was just together enough to stagger two hard steps forward, saving himself from a teeth-first collision with the bed's hardwood footrail. 

There was light in the room, shining through the curtains. The lamps were off, though, and after the light of the hallway Dean stumbled again before grabbing the footrail of the high four-poster. "Sammy?" Dean managed, his voice almost as deep a growl as Castiel's, which was not surprising, considering the single-malt whiskey he'd been soaking his larynx in.

"Mm," came a response from the bed.

"He isn't talking much," came Castiel's voice, sounding slow, softer than usual, but a long way from boiled. "He did cry a great deal, though."

"Yeah…yeah, so did…I did, Bobby did…" Dean came up around the footrail, holding on to the spiraled, dark wood of one of the canopy-supporting posts. "Death makes humans do that. So does booze. Death and booze, there's crying." There was a box of tissues on the bedside table, and Dean pulled one free and blew his nose so hard he fell over on the bed. Immediately, Sam's hand reached over Cas, grasped the front of Dean's shirt and pulled at him. 

"Sammy, leggo my chest, I gotta…" he needed to get his clothes off, but he was on his back, half on the bed, and sitting up again to undress didn't feel like it was going to be easy. Maybe not even possible.

His clothes rustled softly around him--he was too drunk to freak out appropriately--and then they were gone. All of them. "Cas…d'jou just strip me naked?"

"My apologies. I'd intended to leave your underthings. I managed to drink several 'fifth'-size bottles before the taste became too objectionable; forgive the error." 

"Uh." Whatever. Dean managed to crawl around, rolling over once, until he could pull the covers down and crawl under them. He realized, like it should be some big surprise, duh--the back he was moving up against was not Sam's.   
"Uh," he said again, but with a whole different world of meaning behind it.

Cas apparently spoke Drunken Monosyllable. "Sam is--here--no, that's still me, Dean. Here." He got hold of Dean's hand and hauled the attached arm across his own body to place Dean's palm solidly on Sam's ribs; Sam was shirtless, and uncovered by the bedclothes to the waist. Cas was, as Dean was now finding as he finished getting comfortable, naked, and when he checked, sliding a hand down Sam's side as though simply stroking, Sam was as well.

"I should move," Cas said dully.

"No," Dean said, just as Sam managed an anguished sound and Dean felt Sam's other arm, which was now wrapped beneath Cas's body, slide up and lock his hand on Cas's shoulder. "Stay," Dean added, just to be safe, and buried his face in the back of Cas's neck so he could gently stroke Sam's upper person, and also to bury his face in Cas's neck. It seemed like a good place to hide at the moment. 

Still, something…oh. Yeah. "Did I int…in'rupt you guys?"

"If you're asking if we were having any sort of sexual relations, no. We were only exchanging…comfort. Affection."

"Naked?"

"Yes. Obviously."

"Whiskey dick?"

"What?"

"Never mind." Dean could deal with all this, at this stage of inebriation. Dean could deal with damn near anything at this stage of inebriation. Not drunk enough to puke or pass out, at least not if he didn't want to, but only just. 

"I'm sorry I'm…inadequate to human need in situations like this. I do…I feel the loss. Very keenly. But you…"

"You're doin' jus' fine, Cas." He began kissing around Castiel's neck and shoulders, and in the process the back of Sam's hand and arm. Cas sighed softly, leaning forward so that Dean could reach more of his neck.

Dean held onto Sam and pulled himself up tight to them both, causing Castiel to hastily rearrange himself lest he get body-pinched by the bony protrusions of the other two men. Sam cooperated with the rearranging, which involved a quick snugging by Cas more completely into Sam's embrace--it was safer in there while things were still moving. Sam took the opportunity to turn Cas's face up and kiss him; Cas kissed him back, but said "You should both sleep. Ellen and Jo died doing God's work, and heaven had no specific grudge against them. And heaven--the place--is still a good place, for most humans."

"I think I wanna believe you know that," Dean whispered against Cas's hair. 

"I think we can," Sam murmured, hardly intelligible, but with no less sincerity for that.

***

"I love you."

Dean had been going through his duffel, which he'd placed on the heavy particleboard dresser in the room they'd taken somewhere around midnight. He paused, and his hands slowly settled to the smooth surface. He could feel Sam sitting across the room on one of the full-size beds, waiting. They seldom said those words to each other outside bed, when a lot of rare words were said. They were inside each others' heads in a way that sometimes made both of them a little nuts--Sam had admitted as much when he'd told Dean that doing something without him, something that used Sam's own unique abilities, had made him feel stronger, a more complete person. 

But their simpatico also meant that they didn't have to tell each other those words very often. Sam would know that Dean would see it as a signal of sorts, though no less sincere for that. 

Dean turned, relaxed, and leaned back against the dresser, resting his palms on the edge and crossing one ankle over the other. "I love you, too. There some reason you're mentioning it right now?"

"Yeah. I need to talk to Cas."

Dean blinked. "I guess just giving him a call is out?"

"It's not that. I'll call him. I wanted to tell you that--at first, at least--I want to talk to him alone."

Dean gazed contemplatively at him for a bit. "Then I guess it's about me?"

"Not exactly. It's about things I can't really discuss with you, because you don't like to."

"Then, Dr. Fuller, the insight king--what you were saying just before we got out of Dodge."

"This was there a long time before Fuller. He just said it in a way that…" Sam trailed off. "Bobby might listen, but he'd rather not hear stuff like this, and…"

"…and you want Cas, anyway."

Sam nodded. "I need someone with his perspective. And yeah, I just want to see him."

Dean shrugged. "Be my guest. I wouldn't mind seeing him too, if you can get him to stick around when you're through with whatever you gotta do--I've actually kind of been missing the guy. But don't expect me to leave you two the room at the moment, after what we just went through. I need to sleep--in a room that locks from the inside--and hopefully wake up with all my marbles in their bag again."

"I'll…go out there." He gestured at the window; the motel pool was lit and open at night; it acted as a central court that the three wings of the building faced onto. There was furniture around the pool area, and a small shower building.

"Okay. Take the knife. And a gun. Cas or no Cas, there are still people after you."

Sam half-smiled, not looking at Dean. "All right." As Sam got up and started for the door, Dean paused him with a hand on his arm. "I do love you, too," he reiterated almost inaudibly, not looking at Sam.

Sam leaned over and kissed Dean's cheek lightly. "I know," he whispered, and turned away again.

Dean moved to the window and pushed the curtains aside just enough to watch Sam take his phone from his pocket as he walked to the car. Sam opened the trunk, removing a .38 clip gun and stowing it in his jacket. He slammed the lid and kept walking, toward the pool area that Dean could see was lit only by the lights in the pool proper. Sam's huge silhouette slumped into a plastic chair next to a sun-umbrella table, and watching him, Dean almost missed it when an unmistakable trench-coated figure emerged from around the corner of the pool shower building. Cas walked slowly up to Sam, who lifted his head to look at him. When Cas reached Sam, he held out his hands, and Sam took them and stood. Then he pulled Castiel into a close embrace, apparently unconcerned about any possible observation other than Dean's. Castiel pulled them tighter for a moment before Sam moved him back enough to cradle his face and kiss him.

Dean was watching with, he had to admit, a bit of prurient interest--it usually took death to totally unhinge Dean's capacity for prurient interest, and he was pruriently interested in both these people--but he also noticed the way Cas seemed to be physically supporting Sam just a little. He watched as Castiel petted and soothed Sam, lifting Sam's head gently so he could see his eyes again. Cas nodded once, then spoke for a moment. Sam glanced back toward the double he'd gotten with Dean; the window would look dark to his eyes. 

Cas took Sam's hand, separating them for the moment otherwise, and led him off out of sight--out of everybody's sight, so he could take Sam via angel express to somewhere Sam could really talk, cry, whatever he needed to do; to drag out all the things than Dean couldn't deal with, couldn't *live* with, having dragged out. At least, not the way Sam needed to do it--so completely, going over and over things; desperately, angrily determined that there was some sense to be made of it all. Dean had been forced to the realization that even if there was sense to be made of the things that he'd learned never to go near--the experiences he buried and moved on from, so many of those fucking things--Dean knew he couldn't make that sense. He simply had to let it be, accept as best he could, and let wiser people deal with the deeper ramifications. 

Castiel and Sam, Dean thought--with a smile at the idea, one he'd never let either of them see--were wiser people, both of them. Well, Castiel could be a complete child, but that child had often said very wise things, because he *wasn't* in the human thought-box.

He loved Castiel--something else he didn't expect to ever say. He knew some of it had to do with Sam. Sam needed things that he'd had to do without, because as much as Dean might want to be everything Sam needed, he simply wasn't. There were things he lacked both the ability and the stability to attempt, and Sam had always had to do without what solace and understanding he might have been able to come to. He did without, because there was no one in the sort of life he led who was permanent enough to handle those things except Dean--and Cas, now. And Cas could give him what Dean couldn't, for all the depthless love he bore Sam. 

Cas was beautiful. Dean wasn't thinking primarily of Jimmy Novak's body; when he'd met Jimmy, he'd noticed something--despite sharing a body, the two looked completely different to Dean, and probably to anybody who knew at least one of the two very well. Castiel was a mystery Dean would have loved to explore, if it had been possible for a human ever to know an angel the way Dean wanted to know Castiel. Since he couldn't rise to Cas's level, he was almost pathetically--by his own standards--grateful that Cas was willing to come to Dean's. 

Cas was not like any other angel; Dean didn't know why he knew that, but he did. He was…magic. He was an extremely reluctant hero. He was everything--almost--that Sam had believed angels were before he met a few, other than Cas. The angel was more than practical; he was fucking grim. But he was so much else.

Dean did hope he'd see Castiel before the latter took off again on his quest to find God. He'd told Sam that. Sam would tell Cas. But for the moment, Dean thought, he might as well get some sleep, if he could without dosing up on the bottle of single-malt in the car. Somehow, tonight, he just didn't want to. 

"Thanks, Cas," he whispered, and closed the curtains on the rippling light that shone upward from the water of the swimming pool. 

***

"Hello, Dean," came in a soft whisper, along with a light touch, along his cheekbone and jaw.

"Hm," Dean mumbled sleepily, then muttered, "What's up?"

"Nothing in particular. Sam said you wanted to see me."

It was dark in the room, but Dean could feel Sam asleep in the other bed. When Castiel moved the covers down on Dean's, he barely had a moment to wonder before Cas was sliding in with him.

"Um." Dean was in a T shirt and shorts, but Castiel was naked. His brain frantically trying to catch up with events, he put his arms around Cas and cooperated when the angel adjusted their position in the too-small full-size bed. He managed "Uh, yeah, I--I did say that. I didn't--you don't have--I--"

"Shall I move?" Cas started to pull away. 

"No, you don't have to, uh, just…fuck it, c'mere." He pulled Cas back down with one hand while rubbing his sleep-cruddy eyes. "Sam?"

"He's sleeping. I believe the last few hours were exhausting for him."

Dean shifted a little, getting them settled again after Cas's abortive move-away. "You…helped him, then, right?"

"Of course. I love him." Cas's soft growl was the same as always, his expression as relaxed and untouched by emotion as it usually was; and those words coming from Cas, coming from that, were still pretty odd.

But Dean rolled with it. "Did he…did he cry on you, much?" Sam never cried on Dean unless he was so drunk--and Dean likely was too--that their memories of it were always hazy to nonexistent.

"Only a little," Castiel said matter-of-factly. "Mostly, he needed to talk--some of it could have been with anyone, some needed to be with me--because, as he said, of my perspective. The lovemaking helped a great deal too, though."

Dean froze for a split second. "Whoa. So you guys--not just the kissing and the naked commiseration, you actually…"

"Yes. That part was at my instigation, although Sam had to show me how. He had said everything there was for him to say, and heard what I had to say about it; he knew that, and he also knew he needed more. He was still so…"

"I get it. I've seen a lot of his 'still so'."

"He was very unsettled. Since I couldn't change what was frightening him, upsetting him so much, I could only reassure him emotionally. I'm…not very good at that, I know. But I wanted to do anything that might help. And I find Sam's touch very pleasant, more than I thought would have been possible, even with time to learn to appreciate it."

"Okay. So…thanks for taking care of him. There're some things I just suck at, according to him." 'And to me'.

"You do…suck at it, but I don't think that can be considered entirely your fault. And neither Sam nor I love you any less for it." He caressed Dean's face, with light, tingling little fingertip-touches, down the side of his neck to his shoulder and chest. 

Dean reached up and slid his fingers into Cas's thick, disastrous hair. "Cas…I--um, I…" he was choking in the clutch, dammit. Dean did *not* do that.

Except with angels, apparently.

Castiel placed his fingers across Dean's lips, a light feather-touch, tickling at the edges. "I know, Dean. You don't have to say it."

"Believe it or not, I kinda wanna say it."

"But I'm not Sam, and he's the only one you say that to, no matter your feelings concerning a particular party."

"I don't say it that often, even to Sam. I don't need to. All the exploding at each other over…whatever, doesn't change the fact that we're practically telepathic when it comes to that in particular. "

"Don't be concerned," Castiel said. "You will, sometime, if you really want to."

"I do really want--" he was cut off by Cas's mouth on his again, gentle, but becoming more urgent as Dean forwent protest and responded. His hands slid down the curves and planes of Cas's back, over the dip of his narrow waist and up to caress that truly amazing ass. Cas purred, and started to rub against Dean along the length of their bodies. The sheets slid off them, and damn--Dean's eyes had adjusted, while he was sleeping, to the dimness, and Cas even had great *legs*. It wasn't something Dean usually noticed on a guy.

Dean freed up his mouth for just a second. "Can I get naked too?"

"Of course." Cas burrowed into Dean's neck, sucking flesh firmly. 

"Oh my god--" thanks for teaching him that one, Sam, Dean thought. Cas was hard, pressing against his groin and belly. His hands twisted in the waistband of Dean's shorts, and he let go of Dean's neck to whisper "Lift your legs up," as he shifted his own right leg over to the side so Dean could move. Cas pulled the shorts off while Dean yanked his T shirt off with one arm, the other hand refusing to totally leave Cas's body. He'd had no idea how much he wanted this. "C'mere. Come back," he murmured, taking Cas's shoulders and pulling him back down.

Cas came back, and Dean groaned as they wrapped close, their bodies sliding together so easily, and so directly that he had to bite Cas's shoulder to muffle a yelp. Damn, he'd gotten hard fast. 

"Careful," Castiel murmured. "Sam is very tired. He needs to rest."

"You didn't put him out?"

"No."

Sam could sleep like a dead thing when he was tired enough, Dean knew. And Dean could see why he would be, after what they just went through in the mental hospital, killing that wraith--or being tied down by it, which couldn't have been any more fun--and having Nasty Epiphany night and going over all that, and who knew what else, with Cas.

"Cas--wait a second…oh, god…" Cas, with inhuman control, slowed his rhythmic bodywide caress and lifted his gaze to Dean, looking into his eyes. Cas's glinted clear bright blue in the white light from the parking lot that edged the curtains. He looked expectant but patient, his eyebrows raised. 

"What have you and Sam…I mean, last I heard, you were gonna die a virgin and that wasn't very long ago, and uh--whatever Sam says I'm not a total prick. How much of…what kind of stuff…"

"As I told your brother, the more I touch him--or you--with affection, with the intent to…blend what I feel with what you feel--the more I enjoy it. I've discovered with Sam, before tonight, that I'd be able to appreciate sexual intensity in that sort of expression, as well. Tonight, it seemed…proper."

Dean smiled at the way Cas put the last part. "So tonight with Sam was your first real time?"

Castiel blinked. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be clinical, but you *are* talking about both of us reaching orgasm as a communal effort, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yeah."

"Yes, it was the first time I'd done that." He kissed Dean again, and Dean had to muster every shred of Decent Guy in his sociological synapses to slow Cas down again. 

Through some heavy breathing, he managed to say "I got that. I just need you to tell me if you…don't like something I do. 'Cause I don't know what you…what you and he…"

"Would you like me to show you?"

Cas was that comfortable with this? And with Dean? Dean felt himself getting a charge out of that fact. He'd never thought of Cas as being willing to lead a bit, for which Dean thought he could be excused, after the whole debacle at the whorehouse, and the poker up Cas's ass generally. 

"Yeah, I'd like that," he said softly. "And--show me what you want me to do, too."

"All right."

"I want to tell you…um…Pamela still hurts sometimes, so I don't mention it, but I know you tried to tell her not to look at you--I know it's not possible. Sometimes, I still wish it was you I could see. I can see you, I mean--I can see you through…the medium of a vessel, and you're…it still can't be that big a part of who you are. I'm glad…you'll come down to our level, I guess I mean. And you…I didn't think I'd say this, but I didn't think I'd…um, react to, um, to you like this. You're beautiful. To me. When I see you, I…it's just--"

"Dean--shhh." Cas laid those feather-light fingertips on Dean's lips again. "I understand. And I appreciate what you want to say."

"I'm glad one of us gets it." He reached up to slide one hand carefully into Cas's hair again. "What I want most in the world is for Sam to be happy. I'm an ass about it because I wanted him, I missed him--didn't think I could live without him. But I'm a little more grown up now. And…that's what I really want, and you do things for him that I can't, that make him at least less unhappy. And we take more from you than we give. We know that. You're not human, you're stuck here in a crap situation, trying to find your father and defend earth as well as you can, when it's not even your home. We know we can't give you what you've lost, or what you really want. But we'll give you fucking *anything* we can. All you have to do is ask. Remember that."

"I already feel your love," Cas said softly, "Sam's, and yours. But hearing it said like that…it must be the humanized part of me that finds that especially…warming," he finished, breathing the last word into Dean's mouth, and then brushing his lips quickly over Dean's one time before kissing him deep, lips shockingly soft and firm, thrusting his tongue against Dean's in an eager plea for response. So Dean responded--quietly, for the sake of Sam's sleep--with as much relish in the kiss as Castiel was plainly taking. 

***

"Help--*help*, Dean--Cas--guys, if you're out there--*please*--HELP--"

"That's not him in there," Castiel said softly. "Not really." 

"I know," Dean muttered, lowering the bottle of Black Velvet he was imbibing from. But he didn't look at Cas. 

"Dean, Sam's body just has to finish readapting itself to functioning without the blood, and then he'll--"

"Listen, I--I just need to get some air." Dean was up the stairs as though he'd teleported. Castiel couldn't really blame him. Dean didn't even dare enter the room and comfort Sam, as much or as little as his presence could do--Sam's various psychic abilities, being demonic in nature, were held in check only by the shell of the panic room. If Dean went in there, he could find himself--through no fault of Sam's, in Sam's delirium--thrown against a wall hard enough to break bones, or with his intestines twisted around his liver. Or simply with the living shit beat out of him, since they hadn't been able to bear the thought of binding him, unless he started seizing or levitating again.

But Sam couldn't hurt Castiel. And Castiel would keep Sam from hurting himself.

Cas flew through the evil-proofed wall of the tanklike room and was greeted by the sight of Sam pinned to the ceiling, only the pentagram-grate keeping him from contact with the fan. Castiel thought fast. That Sam might fly either intentionally or out of control without entering the absent, seizing state he had the time Bobby and Dean had tried to cold-turkey him hadn't occurred to them; if Sam, either in his hallucinatory, agonized, uncontrolled state, or on purpose, levitated to that fan, it was the only place in the room that he could conceivably attack and break through. He would have to maintain his control of his gifts for long enough, but as desperate as he was--if he were capable, he would try. At the moment, it was his back against the grate, as he snarled and bellowed and smashed fists and feet against the iron. Escaping that way either hadn't occurred to him, or he didn't have the control to try yet.

In a breath, Castiel was up there, with his arms around Sam. He kicked off with one leg against the ceiling and he and Sam dropped like rocks. Castiel made sure to both maintain a restraining hold around Sam's torso and cushion him against the jolt of landing. 

"CAS!" Sam screamed, and clutched at Castiel with all his strength. The particular grip Sam was using would have broken both of Dean's shoulders, his collarbone, and possibly a few specific vertebrae.

Castiel just gripped him back. "I'm here, Sam. I can't give you demon blood--but this was a single large dosing, not a long-term addiction. It will take far less time for your body to re-adapt to the blood's absence; it hardly had time to adapt to its presence in the first place. *Listen*, Sam. This won't kill you. I promise you that. If your life were in danger, I'd do whatever was necessary to save it."

"You. Don't. Understand," Sam laboriously groaned. "I. Can't. *Take* this--I'll die--"

"I know you won't. I *know* it. I would do anything to keep you alive--I love you, and I would never let you suffer unnecessarily."

Sam hung in his grip, panting, his expression one of abject misery, and Castiel know what humans meant by the feeling of one's heart breaking. "Any…thing, Cas," Sam chattered out. There was blood on his lips, from biting the inside of his mouth. His head rolled helplessly on Castiel's arm.

"I can't readjust your body's systems to function as they did before they were altered to accommodate the blood; but I can make you sleep. I don't know what sort of nightmares you might have, or how your body and the world around you might react to them. That's why we're reluctant to drug you--this is not alcoholism or any known sort of addiction. There is no prescribed set of medications to readjust your chemistry to normal. But I can stay with you, break through your hallucinations, help you if your telekinesis--"

Suddenly Sam wasn't so much hard to hold onto as he was to hold up. Castiel eased the suddenly entirely flaccid-bodied Sam down on the bunk in the middle of the room. 

"Can you…get me to…the toilet when I need to…won't have to use that damn bucket?"

"If you let me help you. And as I said, there's more I can do. I can knock you so deeply unconscious you'd be…anesthetized. I do it commonly, but in most cases, the coma lasts only a minute or two. The way you're sweating, I couldn't keep you under for more than a few hours at a time, at the very most. If you can wait a little while, I can get the necessary equipment to keep you hydrated, and whatever else is necessary. I know there is such. It's used for unconscious patients in hospitals. I imagine Dean would know what to look for." 

Sam shook his head a little bit. "No. Just put me out and…wake me up…every few hours, like you said."

"All right. I'm afraid you'll have to stay in here. Even in a coma, with your abilities charged by the withdrawal instead of by the blood, there's no telling what might happen in the world outside you even when you're in a coma."

"Okay. Okay…" Sam's giant, powerful body, now kitten-weak except when convulsing or undergoing desperate explosions of demon power, vibrated so thoroughly and so hard that Cas strongly doubted if there was a human alive who could have held him up and physically kept him contained. "Anything. Please."

Castiel quickly kissed Sam's forehead and said "All right. But you should drink as much of that water as you can, first."

The pitcher on the table flew directly to Sam's outstretched hands, and Sam began drinking with huge gulping noises. It looked like Sam was developing finer control over his telekinesis; it was a good thing Castiel had come in to him. He might've been through that grate by now. Or, he supposed, his ability to summon the water so easily might have to do with the calming influence of Cas's presence and the promise of relief from his suffering, by whatever avenue.

When Sam had drained half the pitcher--it had been easy, and Sam actually looked calmer now; he'd probably been terribly thirsty--Castiel, kissing his cheek and forehead and mouth, turned to lay Sam on the bunk, arrange the pillow under his head and murmur "I love you, Sam."

Sam's pleading expression carried something of a return sentiment. Castiel touched Sam's forehead lightly, and the trembling, the gulping, the spasms slowly ceased. The long, heavy body gradually began to unclench.

Not time to take the human route; he flew out to the yard, bypassing the worried, wheelchair-bound Bobby, who hadn't yet figured out how to build a ramp that would get him to his own panic room, to find Dean leaning against the Impala, staring silently at the sky.

"I hope you're not praying," Castiel said quietly.

"I was," Dean whispered.

"It would do you no good, even if they could find you, or hear you properly."

"They can't hear us, either? Me and Sam?"

"I doubted the obscuring sigils would have done you any good if they could pick up your thoughts, including the ones that provided references to your location, any time they liked. Under certain circumstances, I can hear you. No one else."

Dean lowered his head. "How is he?"

"He's in a coma. It's all right; I put him into it, after he drank about a quart of water. In three hours I'll wake him, for more water and whatever else he needs by then. I can put him under again afterward."

Dean looked at him uncertainly. "You do know it isn't really good for humans to be that unconscious for too long."

"I'm monitoring him. I'll know if anything dangerous occurs."

"Don't know why I didn't think of it; he can't hurt you. I wonder why I…"

"You tend to think of me in a very human sense lately."

"Um, I guess so. So he's sleeping now?"

"He is. Can you think of anything we could do to help him? So that he'd be…less uncomfortable."

Dean smiled a very little, and glanced at the ground. "Yeah, there're a few things. Get the sweat-soaked clothes off of him, for one; put him into some dry ones. He sometimes sleeps in a T shirt and sweatpants, unless, uh."

"Unless you've had sex that evening and he falls asleep naked." Castiel blinked a slow, impassive blink. 

Dean's smile became a little broader. "You really have a gift, dude."

"So you've both said," Castiel sighed.

***

"Maybe…maybe Joshua…was lying…" Cas didn't sound as if he believed it himself, even a little.

As a matter of form, Sam murmured, reluctantly, "I don't think he was, Cas. I'm sorry."

Cas wandered aimlessly for a few steps, stopping with his back to the brothers. He took a deep breath and half-whispered, half-hissed "You son of a bitch. I *believed*--in--" he fell silent.

Sam and Dean were quiet. There was nothing they could offer Cas to mitigate this. This was all angel, and none of the human methods of comfort they knew would even touch such a beyond-human heartbreak. What was it like, to be an angel--an *angel*--and learn that God himself had, all uncaring, abandoned his post? Protesting that he'd "…done enough already"?

Suddenly Cas turned and tossed Dean's amulet back to him. "I don't need this any more." He gazed at it in Dean's hand, as though it, not God, had betrayed him. Then he added "It's worthless," before turning away from them, toward the door. 

Sam finally couldn't stand it. "Cas--wait--" But Cas didn't use the door. He flew away, vanishing before their eyes, briefly rustling the lightweight stuff in the room.

Sam's eyes cried out for a moment, but then he firmed his jaw, moving toward where Cas had disappeared. He dropped what he'd been packing on the bed and said firmly "We'll find another way. We can still stop all this, Dean."

Dean was staring at the amulet in his hand. He looked up, blank, tired--discouragement a pale word for what Sam was feeling from him. His attitude was encapsulated in one word: "How?"

Sam was not deterred. "I don't know. But we'll find it. You and me. We'll find it." 

Even as he said it, Sam knew he was talking to a stone.

Dean looked away and picked up his duffel. He followed Cas's path to the door; the trash can was next to it. He paused, and the amulet dropped to the end of its cord over the cheap metal bin. Sam inhaled sharply. No. No, don't.

Dean's fingers released the cord. The amulet hit the bottom of the can with a dull thunk. Sam exhaled shakily, as though Dean had dropped his heart to the cold metal. He closed his eyes and pulled himself together. 

Still wordless, Dean opened the door and walked out. Sam sighed heavily, staring after him in frustration, and refusal to accept. He could *not* accept this. 

Sam got out his phone and called Cas. He got Cas's odd voicemail message and said "Cas, please come back. I love you. Dean loves you. Don't leave us now. If you need time to be alone, okay, but call us when you can. As soon as you can. Do what you need to, but come back. Or at least…call me, if it's going to be a while." He sighed and clicked the disconnect. 

***

They had spent the day traveling toward a possible job in Nevada, but Dean had pulled in surprisingly early at an interstate gas-food-lodging sign; the sun had barely gone down. Sam hadn't tried to talk to him in the car; he let Dean play his tapes, and he riffled through notes on his computer, and looked up what references he could on the possible poltergeist haunting on his PDA. The motel Dean pulled into was a Ramada Inn--the Ramada Tonopah Station Motel and Casino, in fact, on the edge of Death Valley. Sam was surprised, but considering the blank look that had haunted Dean all day, Sam decided he'd just pulled in at an easy, obvious stop, because he wasn't concerned about…well, anything. The place was pricey, of course, but they had new plastic that would easily cover the stay. 

Sam had been worried about doing any drinking himself, even a little--he had not-so-out-there visions of himself and Dean in a truly acrimonious faceoff, both of them too miserable and too drunk to be any sort of reasonable; in this kind of mood, Dean had a problem with that even while sober. Castiel wasn't here to referee, even if it had been fair to ask him to; he had massive-- no-way-could-a-human-comprehend-it-massive--heartsick shit of his own to deal with. 

But he couldn't stop thinking about Cas anyway, wishing Cas were with them. Part of Sam wanted to blame Dean for his fatalism, but they'd both been fighting for a long time. This was more than enough of a coup de gras for anyone's determination. Dean was in the bathroom, some thought-killing personal hygiene ritual in the tub, it sounded like. Sam had showered already, and had finally run out of things to distract himself with. He was refusing to indulge further in the bottle that Dean hadn't taken into the bathroom with him. 

Now Sam was sitting motionless on the king-sized bed. He was wishing that he himself weren't part of the collective suckery, from Dean's point of view. Dean had told him that the first good memory he had encountered in heaven had been of a special night they'd shared as youngsters. And he saw Sam's memories--the only ones he'd actually had the chance to see--as occasions of Sam's abandonment and betrayal, and it was so unfair, they *hadn't* been, but Dean saw them that way and right now there was no changing his mind. 

"Cas, I'm so sorry," Sam whispered into his hands; he was sitting with elbows braced on knees, face resting in his palms. "I'm so sorry. I'm trying to hold on, but Dean's let go. I can't hold on alone, but you, your father…you believed, you did, it's why you rebelled, why you gave up everything--I won't ask you to come. You need to be alone, Dean needs to be alone…*I* just don't want to be alone. *I* don't want to give up. I'm an idiot. If *God* won't stop this, doesn't think it's 'his problem'…why do I keep trying? Why do I need to believe we can beat Lucifer without *God's* support, without giving in to the angels? I just know…or maybe I need to know…"

"You pray very loudly when you're drunk," Castiel graveled quietly, from right next to him on the bed. "Or perhaps I should say…deeply. Intensely."

Sam didn't jump; he wasn't nearly in the shape that Dean was, but he was well-oiled enough that his rapid-twitch muscle fibers weren't twitching that rapidly. "Cas," he breathed, as though he'd seen a rosebush bloom out of the padded quality carpet of the room. Beautiful, inexplicable, no need to explain it--just a wonder.

"I would like to die," Cas said, without a trace of expression in voice or face.

"I know. I'm sorry. Dean feels like that, too. I'm pretty close to it." Tears spilled over onto his cheeks, but he didn't sob. He leaned back, collapsing on the bed, feet still on the floor. "I wasn't asking you to come, I wouldn't do that, but I'm really, really glad you're here, Cas."

"Your soul is still beautiful," Cas said idly. "And Dean's, despite everything. I know--intellectually--that I love you, though I feel very little of anything at the moment. I saw no reason not to come to you, since you sent me your coordinates when you arrived here. For the first time, I can honestly say I have absolutely nothing else to do."

Sam chuckled blackly. "Dean and I feel like that, too. Him more than me."

"Perhaps our being together will prevent all of us from committing foolish acts in our despair."

There was a long pause, and Sam found himself thinking of something that would sure as fuck comfort *him* and certainly Dean, but Cas--Sam felt like a total guy for even thinking of it under the circumstances. No one is in the mood to get naked and sweaty with anybody when they have just been as thoroughly heartbroken, disillusioned, and left with purely nothing as Cas had just been. 

"Would you care to have sex?" Castiel asked. 

Sam nearly had a guilt freakout, thinking Cas had read his mind or something, then remembered that he usually looked in your eyes to do that. "I--uh--it would…it would comfort *me*, but I don't see how it could possibly--"

"I've said this before," Castiel said, turning around to face Sam where he lay, now propped on his elbows, legs still hanging off the bed. "The longer I'm in a vessel, the more subtlety and fine nuance I can discern in its senses, and the combinations of its senses. And the more I'm touched with affection, the more I like it. And as you say, Dean is in need of comfort, as well, if he will take it."

"I can think of very few occasions that Dean would turn down sex, especially with you, but this might be one of them. I say might, here. That you'd be involved might be what makes the difference, but he's seriously pissed at *me* right now."

"Rationally so? Over something you've done, along the lines of Ruby, or--"

"No, it's Dean's World shit."

"Then I doubt that will interfere. If necessary, I'll make sure it doesn't."

"You think you can change *Dean's* mind? The reason he's pissed is--"

"Unimportant, if you tell me it's irrational. I'll read it from him and handle it."

They blinked at each other, both of them wanting this, but neither feeling they could in conscience start such a thing when…when what had for fuck's sake had happened had *happened*, in heaven. 

That was when the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, blank-faced, damp and wearing a towel.

Maybe Cas took a little advantage of Dean's mental state, Sam admitted to himself. Dean was used to having sex when he felt desolate, so as to feel *something*. Cas approached Dean, removed his towel with a quick flick, then slid a hand around the back of his head and the other arm around his body, and kissed him, hard. As he did so, his own clothes vanished from his person; Sam's did, too. They reappeared piled on the dining table. 

Dean was understandably a bit rocked at first, but Castiel's intense kisses focused him. That left only Sam to be rocked, but since he was, emotionally speaking, in the best state of the three of them, he figured he'd better pull it together. Someone was going to have to orchestrate this, and while Cas was showing serious interest and determination, he hadn't yet shown anything resembling a plan. Sam wondered if Dean might actually balk at touching him, weighed by the resentment he was currently feeling in there somewhere for Sam, even if he wasn't thinking about it any more. 

Then Cas, still holding Dean firmly, broke the kiss and pulled back just enough to stare into Dean's eyes. Dean, in his present condition and now blown away by the uncharacteristic advances from Cas, only stared back, panting soundlessly through reddened lips. 

"It's not like you believe, with Sam. You think his good memories are all about leaving you. None of them are. You were the only reason he stayed. His reasons for leaving were about the freedom to be who he is--someone your father refused to have as a son. They're about the few times in his life that he felt he could breathe, away from your father's unhearing, uncompromising weight. He only wanted to exist, Dean. He never, ever wanted to leave you. But before he could have you, he had to have a self. He had to be, before he could be *with* anyone at all."

Dean, slowly getting the picture that his mind had just been read, tried to pull away, but not very hard; and Cas didn't let go. He went on "Who he was to your family, then, was a mere fraction of who he was in his entirety. Only you, and his hope of your acceptance and love, made it so hard for him to go. Your father gave him the ultimatum he did, and you backed your father. Under those circumstances, Sam had no choice. You aren't blameless. But Sam has forgiven you; he forgave you long ago. Dean, you know what it is to have matters removed from your control, to be forced to take the action no one likes and that no one wants to see taken, because you have no choice--because you know what's right, what must be done. Even if you hate it, too."

Dean's eyes flooded, and he closed them, and lowered his forehead to Cas's' shoulder, his face slack with denial--but denial of the sudden onrush of feeling, not of Cas's words. 

Sam got up and got an arm around Dean to help hold his slumping figure, not thinking at the moment about Cas's strength. It wasn't for nothing, though. Dean fumbled graspingly at him with one hand, and Cas helped transfer Dean's weight out of the tight-wrapped embrace he and Dean were sharing into a limp-bodied pile against Sam, who cradled him, holding him up. Then it was Cas who was maneuvering the three of them back and onto the king-size.

***

Shortly after gassing up the next morning, they had stopped the car at a view turnout. Rather, Dean had, without mentioning why--despite a blunted but renewed interest in putting one foot in front of the other, visible in his now-purposeful movements and his blank-but-relaxed expression, he was still, for Dean, bizarrely silent.

On waking, Sam hadn't remembered the night before for a moment; when he did, he smiled, before Dean could wake up and see. It would have been nice if Cas had still been there, but after all, the guy didn't sleep. Sam wasn't worried; he'd checked his own phone and Dean's, and found a message on Dean's--"I think I feel a little better. I hope you both do, too. Call if you need me."

Dean was leaning against the grille of the car, staring out over the desolation of Death Valley. Sam joined him there, not saying anything. The light put the two of them and the car in the rays of the early sun, on a high point of land. The light was at their backs. Below them, it was still shadowed, and the edge of the rise scattered motionless, jagged shadows against the ground before them.

Dean finally spoke. "Peaceful, isn't it." His voice was heavy and dull, not philosophical.

Sam got the drift at once. "Don't go there, Dean. Just don't."

"Not much of anywhere else to go, Sammy." 

Sam rubbed his forehead with one hand, feeling tired again already, and then folded his arms, staring at the ground at his feet instead of across the desolation in front of them. "Still pissed at me?"

"You know I'm not." Dean sighed, bracing a boot heel on the chrome he was leaning against.

"You sure?"

"I'm not pissed at you. Cas made me see that. But I'm jealous of what you were able to do--to even *try* to become. You became that, law career or not. I never even tried." Dean shrugged. "I know it's not fair, but it'll probably never change, so I hope we can both live with it." 

"I hope so too." Sam thought of going a little farther into that, but realized before he started that now was not the time. Instead, he asked "You think you're going to be okay otherwise?"

"What's 'okay otherwise'?"

"Willing to work with me to try to stop what's happening. We started it. First and last seal. Like bookends. Don't you think it's up to us to stop it?"

Dean turned a look on Sam that Sam hadn't gotten very often at all in his life, not even from Dean. It was the look of someone confronted with a being who was so entirely off base, so completely in the wrong ballpark of reality, that there was nowhere even to begin explaining the problem properly. "Sam, god--has left--the building," he pronounced carefully. "We are fucked. That's the size of it. The only thing we can hope for is to somehow land on our feet in whatever new world comes of this."

"Listen; I agree it couldn't look much worse. But I *had* actually thought of the possibility that god wouldn't be willing to help; Cas couldn't be expected to do that without proof, and you wouldn't have allowed it to occur to you, because that's not how you operate. You ignore the possible crap eventualities so you can keep your shit together and keep going. But *I* had already thought of it. God is *god*. If god were willing to help, he'd have snapped his fingers and brought this whole shebang to a close--usurping angels, demons, whatever the fuck Lucifer is exactly, and probably stray critters like Cas, all back where they belong in one fell swoop, because even in the bible it states in more than one place that evil could not exist unlesss god let it. He *can* stop the apocalypse. For whatever reason, this is how god wants it to play out. We've been crucial to the proceedings so far. Why should--"

"Sam, be real for a minute, would you? God has dumped the world--god has dumped the *angels*, and heaven's corrupt!"

"But we aren't! When have we ever known whether, or how, we were going to succeed or fail? Have we ever let that stop us trying?"

"There was a *god* then!"

Sam was quiet a beat, then said softly "I thought you never believed in god--or the devil--until Cas."

Dean let his head fall back, gazing at the dust-muted blue of the sky. He was quiet a moment, then said "Guess maybe I did. Or not god, maybe…" He waved a hand impatiently. "Maybe more like, everything finds its level, you know? Like, that's a given. If there's no god, there's still the world, there's still what we know how to work with, how we know to bet, what we know to do. But if there *is* a god and angels and a devil, then that isn't true. Miraculous things do happen, and I'd never believed in *those* before, either. Now we can't just depend on what we know *is*, because it isn't, necessarily. Now there needs to be a god for that. And he's off somewhere bored with the whole project. I gotta say there's not much to be hopeful about, Sammy."

"Not hopeful, maybe, but you've never been big on hope. Determination is your strong suit. Why have you abandoned it all of a sudden?" That Dean had done that before, when he was destined for hell, was something Sam didn't think needed mentioning. Of course, Dean had, on some level, wanted to die, then. Sam was willing to bet Dean no longer harbored that wish even subconsciously, now that he knew what both heaven and hell were like. Of course, that didn't mean Dean didn't just want *out* some way, still. And Sam was afraid he'd make the choice of not choosing, if it could get him that.

"Because I never wanted this, Sam. I wanted to follow what Dad wanted for me. Why do you think I get so pissed when you have the guts to want what *you* want, instead? I can deal with needing to save one person, one family--even a town full of people, from a threat that's on some level that I can understand. But fuck, Sammy, the whole world? On the *god* scale? This is *wrong*, dude. It's a *joke*. Come on, if the world's supposed to be saved, it wouldn't be me and you in charge of saving it."

"I wouldn't be too sure. I've already said, look at what we've been instrumental in so far. People doing god's work every day hardly ever get glory, or even recognition. We don't know how many times the world might have been saved by people like us. Special people. Like Cas said you were."

Dean smiled mirthlessly. "He'd have said you were too, if you'd been there."

"Yeah, he mentioned he'd suspected I was the Lucifer vessel. You get the point, Dean."

Dean was quiet a long time, but since he didn't get back in the car and start driving yet, Sam stayed quiet, too. 

Finally Dean sighed and said "Let's get going, Sam." He stood up, away from the grille, but he didn't move any farther, and Sam knew it for a question. Dean wanted to think. He didn't want to be pressed further right now. He was hoping Sam would let this conversation go for a while, but he wouldn't insist.

Sam let it go. "Yeah, we probably should. If we haul, we can be in Carson City before the sun's high and we get the car sweaty."

They got back in, and Dean started the engine. 

"Anything in mind if the Carson City thing turns out to be a few friends all croaking separately from the same bad stash?" Dean said. 

"Actually I was thinking about telling you yesterday, but we weren't really talking, and then Cas…well, there've been a shitload of demon sightings in a place called Blue Earth, Minnesota--"

"Minnesota?! You could have--"

"Carson City was closer and we'd have had to check it out anyway, all right? Anyway, the little paper they publish there is speculating about contaminated water or staple food, and saying they need to call in the CDC."

"What's the chance it *is* contaminated water?"

"None, really. Wait'll you see the front page." 

While Sam tapped keys, Dean just drove quietly. After a minute, he said "Where do you suppose he is?"

Sam stopped tapping, and shook his head. "No idea. I don't want to call him yet. He needs some alone time."

Dean made a snorting noise that indicated wholehearted agreement. "We'd better not leave it longer than a week or so, though. If angels could commit suicide, I'd be worried."

"How do you know they can't?" Sam said. His tone made it clear he was serious.

Dean thought for a heartbeat, then said "Because I'm pretty sure he would have right off. I can't count the ways it would suck for a devout human to find out for sure that god didn't give a shit, that he isn't and never has been present in the lives of every believer--the intervening we know about, that's happened to *us*, god considered to be a *lot* of intervening, which means he doesn't do it at all with most people. And we're not even devout; he just had a use for us." Sam gave him a look at the devoutness comment, but--it was just Dean being Dean; "I" often became "we" in Dean's universal view--he didn't say anything, and Dean finished, "Now think about what it would mean to an angel, to find out the same thing."

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "I have. I don't think he would have killed himself at once if he could, though. He still has us. We may not be god, but he can see we need him. He knows we love him. I mean, yeah, he's crushed, I understand that, but I don't believe he'd abandon us while we still fight, while we still want his help…still want him."

Dean was quiet again for just a few breaths, then said "Maybe you're right. I guess we'll--"

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."

Dean, knowing that for one of his own lines, smirked a little and didn't reply.

Sam said "When we get to Carson City, we'll take a pie break, and I'll show you this online Blue Earth paper."

Dean nodded. "Sounds good."

When twenty or thirty miles had gone by and Dean still hadn't done it, Sam found a cassette from a shoebox next to his feet, shoved it into the player, and turned it up.   
Eventually, quietly, Dean started to hum along.


End file.
